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    <title>TheDeadGuy's New Writeups</title>
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    <updated>2009-10-22T07:11:14Z</updated>
<entry><title>October 6, 2009 (log)</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.everything2.com:80/user/TheDeadGuy/writeups/October+6%252C+2009"/><id>http://www.everything2.com:80/user/TheDeadGuy/writeups/October+6%252C+2009</id><author><name>TheDeadGuy</name><uri>http://www.everything2.com:80/user/TheDeadGuy</uri></author><published>2009-10-22T07:11:14Z</published><updated>2009-10-22T07:11:14Z</updated>
<content type="html">&lt;p&gt;
&lt;em&gt;&quot;Hey you, wake up.  I'm getting lonely.&quot;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
&quot;What?&quot;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
&lt;em&gt;&quot;I didn't really expect you to &lt;a href=&quot;/title/fall+asleep&quot;&gt;fall asleep&lt;/a&gt; on me.  I'm not sure if I should be hurt or satisfied.&quot;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
&quot;If it is a free &lt;a href=&quot;/title/choice&quot;&gt;choice&lt;/a&gt; between the two... there you go.&quot;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
&lt;em&gt;&quot;For a minute I thought I killed you, you know.&quot;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
&quot;Not dead.  Sleeping.  Closest I can get to it these days.&quot;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
&lt;em&gt;&quot;I was just thinking, the only way I could ever be more than just a brief blip on your radar would be to kill you.  Then I might get some points in your life story.&quot;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
&quot;Well, feel free.  Just let me get some sleep first.&quot;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
&lt;em&gt;&quot;I read all that stuff you wrote, you know.  I just wish I could be as important as some of those women in your life.&quot;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
&quot;If you kill me, who will write the story?&quot;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
That was it, though.  He got out of bed and walked over to his desk.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
&lt;em&gt;&quot;What are you doing?  Come back to bed?&quot;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
&quot;No, not just yet.  I just&amp;hellip;</content>
</entry><entry><title>Those who come to scoff often stay to pray (fiction)</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.everything2.com:80/user/TheDeadGuy/writeups/Those+who+come+to+scoff+often+stay+to+pray"/><id>http://www.everything2.com:80/user/TheDeadGuy/writeups/Those+who+come+to+scoff+often+stay+to+pray</id><author><name>TheDeadGuy</name><uri>http://www.everything2.com:80/user/TheDeadGuy</uri></author><published>2009-10-04T02:51:55Z</published><updated>2009-10-04T02:51:55Z</updated>
<content type="html">&lt;p align=&quot;right&quot;&gt;&lt;strong&gt;(&lt;a href=&quot;/title/A+little+lower+than+the+angels&quot;&gt;Part One&lt;/a&gt;)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
&lt;em&gt;&quot;There are vows and promises, articles of faith in oneself and others, that help to define us as we travel through life.  Often these vows and promises are broken, forgotten or dismissed over time.  There are some vows and promises that are more than that, they are essential components of who we are, and to break or dismiss them can damage or destroy us because doing so changes the essential being of who we are.  Even if they become forgotten, they remain within the soul core, and with the passage of time they find reasons to be remembered.&quot;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
&quot;He's alive.&quot;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
&lt;em&gt;&quot;It is best they do not know what death is, for it should make them desire it too much.  The counter starts again.&quot;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
He opened his eyes to the sound of a voice.  The street that surrounded him looked very familiar, but he was only beginning to focus and his memory wasn't as sharp as he remembered it being.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
&quot;Time&amp;hellip;</content>
</entry><entry><title>August 24, 2009 (personal)</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.everything2.com:80/user/TheDeadGuy/writeups/August+24%252C+2009"/><id>http://www.everything2.com:80/user/TheDeadGuy/writeups/August+24%252C+2009</id><author><name>TheDeadGuy</name><uri>http://www.everything2.com:80/user/TheDeadGuy</uri></author><published>2009-08-24T06:42:52Z</published><updated>2009-08-24T06:42:52Z</updated>
<content type="html">&lt;p&gt;
&quot;So why do you keep fighting this?  Why do you keep trying to be someone other than who you are?  Have you lost that much &lt;a href=&quot;/title/faith&quot;&gt;faith&lt;/a&gt;?&quot;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
Months upon months of dreams that were empty.  Dreams I could not remember.  Months upon months of praying for the dreams to return.  Months upon months of praying that my faith would return.  Months upon months of asking &lt;a href=&quot;/title/Anastasia&quot;&gt;her&lt;/a&gt; to please listen to me and give me direction.  And then this week, a week of chaos and confusion, a week of grabbing myself by the balls and pushing forward, and then there it was, &lt;a href=&quot;/title/Rancho+Nuevo&quot;&gt;the kingdom of my dreams&lt;/a&gt; coming back live and in living color.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
&quot;Maybe you have suffered enough.&quot;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
&quot;You think?&quot;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
&quot;Don't push it, motherfucker.&quot;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
&quot;Is that nice talk?&quot;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
&quot;Yeah, like you haven't fucked mothers.  Give me a break.  Stop being a &lt;a href=&quot;/title/pariah&quot;&gt;pariah&lt;/a&gt;.&quot;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
If you had an angel like mine, you'd miss her as well.  Probably.  Doesn't matter.  You have to be aware of the really strange&amp;hellip;</content>
</entry><entry><title>I woke up (personal)</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.everything2.com:80/user/TheDeadGuy/writeups/I+woke+up"/><id>http://www.everything2.com:80/user/TheDeadGuy/writeups/I+woke+up</id><author><name>TheDeadGuy</name><uri>http://www.everything2.com:80/user/TheDeadGuy</uri></author><published>2009-08-09T06:57:17Z</published><updated>2009-08-09T06:57:17Z</updated>
<content type="html">&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;/title/A+journey+ended+begins+again&quot;&gt;Start Again&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;/title/Buying+your+first+mountain&quot;&gt;Back&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;hr&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
&quot;So, what would you say happened to you?&quot;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
&quot;I woke up.&quot; He smiled and shrugged.  It was no big deal, or at least that was how he wanted it to sound.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
It didn't answer any questions and it didn't help at all.  I remembered myself saying more or less the same thing, some fifteen years earlier.  A whole lifetime apart from the here and now, or so it seemed.  &quot;I woke up.&quot;  The smile.  The shrug.  It all fit so well together.  It was a jogging of the memory, shaking up the brain, hitting the sour notes of remember me and then flying out the window without any fanfare.  That was how it had been and how I once intended it to be.  &quot;I woke up.&quot;  &lt;a href=&quot;/title/End+of+story&quot;&gt;End of story&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
Long ago and far away, back in a time I've often found myself romanticizing, a time when I walked on water and had a woman on either arm.  &lt;a href=&quot;/title/Lifetimes+are+catching+up+with+me&quot;&gt;After a lifetime&lt;/a&gt; of&amp;hellip;</content>
</entry><entry><title>The Wrestler (idea)</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.everything2.com:80/user/TheDeadGuy/writeups/The+Wrestler"/><id>http://www.everything2.com:80/user/TheDeadGuy/writeups/The+Wrestler</id><author><name>TheDeadGuy</name><uri>http://www.everything2.com:80/user/TheDeadGuy</uri></author><published>2009-05-29T05:42:45Z</published><updated>2009-05-29T05:42:45Z</updated>
<content type="html">&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;If you have not seen the &lt;a href=&quot;/title/Darren+Aronofsky&quot;&gt;Darren Aronofsky&lt;/a&gt; film The Wrestler, you should go watch it and not read any further until after you have watched it at least two times.  This writeup contains unintentional spoilers that are necessary due to the focus of the writeup.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
Amongst the many other thoughts and emotions evoked by this film, the one I keep coming back to is a question.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
&lt;em&gt;Go watch the movie before you read any further.  Otherwise I am about to totally fuck up the experience for you.  Go.  NOW.  Watch it.  At least two times.  NOW.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
That question is, does Randy The Ram commit &lt;a href=&quot;/title/suicide&quot;&gt;suicide&lt;/a&gt; at the end of the movie.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
If you were to do something that would be considered normal in the course of your life, knowing that doing it would almost certainly result in your death, and you continued to do it despite the warnings of everyone who knew about those dangers are you actually purposely killing yourself and therefore committing suicide?&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
Suicide is about&amp;hellip;</content>
</entry><entry><title>roadkill (fiction)</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.everything2.com:80/user/TheDeadGuy/writeups/roadkill"/><id>http://www.everything2.com:80/user/TheDeadGuy/writeups/roadkill</id><author><name>TheDeadGuy</name><uri>http://www.everything2.com:80/user/TheDeadGuy</uri></author><published>2009-05-19T15:16:41Z</published><updated>2009-05-19T15:16:41Z</updated>
<content type="html">&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;Tha-Thump.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
You were driving home late.  In the rain.  There was no reason to expect there would be a baby crawling across the road.  You suppose it could have been something else, but &lt;a href=&quot;/title/in+your+heart&quot;&gt;in your heart&lt;/a&gt; in you know it was a baby.  A human baby.  Crawling across the road late at night in the rain.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
You thought about stopping.  You didn't.  This is the stuff of pure panic.  Adrenaline.  You keep driving.  Your hands are trembling.  Your leg is shaking, barely able to stay on the accelerator pedal.  For several minutes you fiddle with the radio knobs.  Then you turn the radio off.  You drive in silence except for the sound of the rain.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
A baby.  A human baby.  Back there in the road.  In the rain.  It has to be dead.  There is no way a baby could have survived being run over by your car.  Being run over by you.  Maybe you should go back.  Maybe it could be still alive.  Maybe there is something you can do.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;
No.  That's impossible.  You have to keep going.  There was&amp;hellip;</content>
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