zrscottz-blog

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I'm beginning to believe the psychiatrists Chapter one

Name's Mike.  Friends call me Ice or a few other words. respectful like, words that stay rhyming with Ice. They'll call me Nice or Dice or Thrice. Whatever.  Ice Mike is my fave and I've been that guy for the longest. If the situation calls for code names then my go to is Charles Namen. It's simple, easy to remember for me, and forgettable for others.  Charles Namen is unnoticed, unchallenged, and basically invisible to authorities and the average citizen. Whatever. Anyway, I've accepted my circumstances as an outsider in this society of laws, red-tape, and government, and I'm about ready to make a statement of monstrous importance.  Just need to escape this ward in one piece. Just need to overthrow this tiny piece of the system and access the roof. In one piece. I'm useless when the force of gunpowder and bullets pierce my head, torso, arms, legs, etc. In one piece. A thought is popping in and I'm beginning to believe the psychiatrists when they question my overall sanity. Haha I'm going to have Dr. Bob, the surgeon from Allegheny General Hospital remove and reattach my appendages. In one piece in one piece, IN ONE FUCKING Piece! ,My thoughts are racing! I'm a bit too large to sqeeze through the air ducts but I'm certain an arm and legless torso could be dragged by a trustworthy outsider. Through the ducts, up an elevator shaft, and onto the roof. I'll need to be packed in Ice and reassmbeled outside so my team of accomplices will include at least two doctors.

When I was ten I fell through The Ice.  I stumbled while climbing a massive oak and plummetted towards the lake, screaming and scared shitless.  It was minutes before help arrived and I was finally freed from the depths. The Ice was a force I'd never encountered before, flowing beneath the surface sheet, it wreaked its havoc on my small body. The under Ice quickly plugged the hole I'd crashed through and gained its place above, while I sunk to the lake's weed covered floor. The Ice captured me from a playful day and secured me for almost 5 minutes. Indeed, a miracle occurred and my survival was a tale for the story books. I was born again, Ice Mike! 

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The gram

I'm wired. Bones shaking me like a bush in a storm. Eyeballs getting a dose of focus and total alerting, fuel-like energy. A powerful rush consumes my heart, lungs, brain, and central nervous system, artificial dopamine cleansing my hectic mind and spirit. I'll push in the plunger in a moment of anticipation, and seize my rightful position as a God among men. I'm the epitome of this life's pleasures and partying like a fucking Rockstar.

Sipping my newly triggered ecstasy, washing away my unhappy memories, I turn my attention to the rising sun. Another black night given to the demons within, and a tiny portion of snow-like powder remains.

"Save the rest for a wake up hit." I reason with myself, knowing the futility of the plan.

"Hit that remainder now while you're still rolling strong." The hedonist wins this duel of reasoning with little protest, and I convert my cocaine into a liquid solution. Prepare myself for the ride and locate the trafficked blue highway on my upper forearm.

Whoosh. I'm engulfed in a whirlwind of wistful bliss and I have arrived at the pinnacle.

The digital display clock on my nightstand reads 7:00AM. It is time for the lonely come down and subsequent crash. My paper-thin eyelids have seen enough for one night; I'm brooding on the wakeup target of noon. My bedroom is a spent shell of the night times distractions, manic projects jutting from shelves and bookcases. A collapse is imminent, a fall from grace. Oh, the day ahead, Oh, the week in sight! Just working for the weekend. For a respite from my life, the drug that's kept me loyal. I'll miss these midnight toils, the looping speeding thoughts, and the all-so-poignant dialogues. I'll yearn for her return, her greeting through the baggie. Ill find her out in alleys and through a parked car's window. I'll seek her past all reason and spend til I am lost. But now it's past the come down, the hour's much past late. I'm melting into fabrics and slumber's sweet embrace. I'm off into the darkness, a pit that's bleak, opaque. Into this week's struggles and off into the rat race, I'm striving for my Saturday, my weekly binge and take. I'll miss it all for moments. I'll be taken once again, into cocaine's storm, it's lofty sugar sweetness, and then the gram is over, and I'll live it once again.

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"pussy ass bitches"

{єvíl vєnσm}

чσur vєnσm ís líkє αn єvíl wíckєd snαkє knσckíng αt thє dσσr sαчíng lєt mє ín вєcαusє í αm thє dєvíl

αnd αs í trч tσ run frσm thє dєvíl knσckíng αt thє dσσr вєcαusє í cαn’t єscαpє mчsєlf ít’s líkє hσldíng α shσtgun tσ mч hєαd

αnd pullíng thє tríggєr whílє вlσwíng mч вrαíns σut αll чσu pussч αss вítchєs whílє sαчíng hσt dαmn чσu hαvє gσt mє fєєlíng líkє αn σut σf thís wσrld αlíєn thαt hαs вєєn αlíєnαtєd вч чσu sσ σpєn up thє dσσr

αnd lєt thє dєvíl ín

αnd thє dєmσns thαt ís αlwαчs gσíng tσ вє knσckíng αt thє dσσr вєcαusє wє αll αrє flσαtєrs dσwn hєrє

αnd αs thє dαrkєnєd vєnσm kєєps runníng thrσugh mч vєíns αs mч vєnσmσus вσdч turns íntσ α skєlєtσn fαdíng αwαч íntσ dust sσ knσck-knσck αt thє dσσr lєt mє ín вєcαusє thís vєnσmσus dєmσn dєvíl dσg αlwαчs lívєs ínsídє σf чσu sσ í’ll αlwαчs вє chαsíng mчsєlf

αnd nσ rєαsσn tσ phσnє hσmє вєcαusє thís ís чσur fínαl cαll

αnd чσur lσng lσst dєstínч sσ dσn’t tєst mє вєcαusє thís dєvíl ís αlwαчs gσíng tσ вє knσckíng, knσck-knσck αt чσur dσσr sσ dσn’t trч tσ hídє frσm чσursєlf вєcαusє thís dєvíl rєmαíns ínsídє σf чσu nσ mαttєr íf чσu вlσw чσur вrαíns σut αll σvєr thєsє pussч αss вítchєs

αnd hєll nσ í’m nσt lσcσ єíthєr

αnd í αm just чσur híddєn dєmσn dєvíl dσg αt чσur dσσr sσ αccєpt чσur fαtє

αnd lєt mє ín

©t.l.g. αll ríghts rєsєrvєd 10/4/2018

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The Seven Sea Sisters

I forget what day it is, I have lost track of time attempting to create life. My creations still do not surpass my first, as for them to surpass my first I would have to have a first. I am eons in and my hands still fail to summon intelligent life, I can give birth to plants of nearly sentient nature, but I still fail to create my own humans.

I have spent decades sculpting the land just to lay it to waste in fits of rage as my abilities as a deity see their limits. Upon an island I lay, no room for anyone else, not that I could create anyone to enjoy my spec of land with me. At Least that is what I thought, now while it was not life I created I was visited by a deity from Earth. Earth was where my mortal lives lived, it was bizarre seeing one of the gods that crafted my origin planet. They saw me lonely and emotion filled, crafting just to destroy due to fits of anger, sadness, hopelessness, and soul crushing loneliness. The deity was gracious and offered me asylum in their universe where I may rest and watch how they created life. I spent a few lifetimes watching my old lives go by, remembering past events long forgotten. Years went by as I watched their creations grow and develop, I ventured to and from Earth trying to figure out the secret to craft life.

I fail to recall how many times Earths deity started their world over, each time learning how to better appease the people of Earth, learning how to lead Humans down a path which leads them to happiness. I want my chance to create a world where I restart over and over making the perfect life for my inhabitants. I will be patient as this deity is and one day I hope to be rewarded with the gift to create life.

Keep reading

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1939 Lehaitre tracked motorcycle

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1.) list

Success, Riches, Fortune, Influence, Power, Decadence, Luxuries, Refinement.

McKinley, Goldman Sachs, JLL.

I am a millionaire, a billionare several times over, Knighted, A Lord, The Duke, I am powerful. I have arrived; cue the symphony.

Drivers, Caviar, Vicuʼna and Cashmere, the Chàteau, Lear Jet, my Yacht, Rolls Royce, Marble Statues, Stables, Suits and Ties - Savile Row, Offshore Accounts, Duel Citezenship, The White House, Wall st. Beverly Hills, Endowments, Trusts, Limited Liability, Partnerships, Thinktanks, Hedge Funds, Rolex, Helipads, Ostrich and Gator Goods, Fur, Real Estate.

The One Percent.

[zrscottz-blog]

I'm beginning to believe the psychiatrists.

I'm beginning to believe the psychiatrists. I'm hopelessly zonked on 4mg of ativan, who knows how much clozaril and of course my standby, the ever-present lithium and thorazine combo that I've been prescribed for years. I'm hopelessly zonked on 4mg of ativan. Oh did I say that? My brains feeling lotsa loopy. Lotsa loopy, haha - what a place this is. I'm feeling asleep and nervous and full of fear right now and oh my god my foot hurts. That guard put up one hell of a fight but I proclaimed my victory after a rousing tussle on the fading blue and beige carpet. Lotsa loopy. These guards are trained to sedate a wayward patient by any means necessary. Any means necessary generally entails a lazy restraint against the colorless walls. Or a police like, hands behind your back, arrest like maneuver. I have never presented the general disregard for institution rules. More like a complete disdain for fellow patients and a revolutionary attitude of urgency and violence toward hospital personnel. When a guard engages me, they're in it for the glory of a round with Ice Mike. Maybe they're in it for a sadistic thrill. Or a teachable moment. I'm sure they enjoy my surrender at the end. And they always obtain it. I manage to knock out a husky officer while completing a chokehold maneuver on a nurse but invariably the numbers win out and I'm done in by the machine. I wonder if dinner is soon. I'm concerned they will not feed me and I'll wither away and perish. Less loopy. Ativan is quick acting and quick fading. I pull on my criss-crossed arms and test the restraints. It's no use. I'm captured and the overthrow is thwarted once again. I'm less foggy and I believe in my convictions so I must persist, But these restraints are an immediate barrier. I'm less foggy and my typical plan of deception unfurls in my head. I play nice. I apologize. I sympathize. I cajole. I manipulate. I gain my limited freedom of mobility on the wing. I plan a brand new scheme. I mobilize the forces. I strike. I win. They're dead. I win. I win. I win. I'm concerned they will not feed me. I'm always kept fed, occasionally by force, but typically from a tray by an overweight nurse who seems to care. I'm almost fooled sometimes but I can analyze their game and cut them down like timber. These restraints. This fluorescent. These medications. My FOOT. Oh my god I'm sure it was broken by the cabinet I roundhouse kicked. I'll have time to heal. I'll be monitored by a therapist who will remain two feet from me for several months. I'll get to know him. I'll befriend and monitor him. The tables have turned and he's loosening his regulations. The therapist will tire and become bored by my apathy and request less restrictions. I will be labeled "healing" and patients will begin interracting with me again. I'm less foggy. These restraints are comfy. I've been served a warm beef and noodle casserole. I have my plan. I have my time. I have my convictions, and I will remain here while your world turns slowly towards the sun.

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Paris, a Rainy Day, 1877, Gustave Caillebotte

Medium: oil,canvas

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Flesh Held to a Flame

Anyone who tells you, they know the worst pain, a gunshot, a stabbing, flesh held to a flame - they know not the pain that holds with heartache. Its venomous torture which flows through the veins. It cuts and it claws, it burns and it stings. It plays on the moods with murderous swings. It touches the stomach, at first its quite plain, but simmer it does then boils insane. Rage is a pain. So is anger and malice. They gang up together to drink from the chalice. Slurping the hearthache, now they're emboldened. An explosion within, can hardly control it. Pushing it down, corking the bottle, anger turned inward, that's the new motto. Sinking and sulking, feet dragging behind you, you'll pray for a gunshot or stabbing to find you.

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The Pilot

I was the pilot of a C 130 transporting a giant squid to the museum of natural history in New York City. Several scientists from prestigious universities and federal agencies were on board the sixteen hour flight from Santiago, Chile. They were thrilled at the prospect of studying the giant, ten legged cephalopod. The behemoth of the southern Pacific. Two male scientists, biologists from a research facility in northwest Germany couldn't wait for the eventual landing and complex transport. They convinced the lead scientist, Hans Brenner to allow them access to the custom-built tank in the cargo hold of the airplane.

"Ve only vant to zee zee eyes doctor, and our research is highly sensiteev, as you know. Vee von't deesturb the creature, just a peak before zee uzzers." The two men eagerly awaited permission while I attempted to unscramble their foreign accents.

Dr. Brenner waved the two scientists away and continued the conversation he'd been having on a state of the art satellite phone.

"Two hundered thousand dollars!", Brenner protested.

"You have got to be kidding me Alfred, these people wouldn't know what to do with that kind of money!"

I overheard the doctor's exchange and it piqued my curiosity. It turned out he was discussing the payment which the tiny fishing village off Argentina's southern coast desired for having caught the giant squid. I imagined what that kind of windfall could do for an impoverished village, possibly expanding educational programs and improving on their crumbling infrastructure. There had been strange lizards, rabid jackals, and exotic penguin species upon the villages one-lane, dirt and gravel runway. Nobody was qualified to man the ancient radio in their tiny control tower. Arrival and departure was quite treacherous, a mission I decided was worth undertaking. These scientists had a huge grant from NYC. I began to envision a brighter future for the hardworking people as Brenner relented on the phone.

I began counting my blessings, grateful for all the opportunities I'd been given in life

Cumulus, white, pom-pom shaped clouds began to crest the horizon, casting shadown across my cockpit as I recounted my harrowing adventures and looked back on my life. A wave of nostalgic contentment rushed over me while I thought of my time in the armed services and my time throughout flight school. I was good at my job and I enjoyed it immensely. I couldn't imagine a different path for me and I shut my eyes for a moment. The hum of the aircrafts propellers buoyed me and i fell into a cozy slumber.

It could not have been long before I was awakened by the altitude change and my ears began to pop uncomfortably. My instrument panel was going haywire and an irritating alarm was sounding.

"WHAT IN THE HELL IS GOING ON AIRMAN?" In my daze I looked up to see Dr. Brenner's terrified, stricken face. Quickly, I adjusted the throttle, eased the control collumn back, and steadied the twenty-ton airplane, sweat beading upon my brow.

In my thirteen years transporting hazardous, often classified materials, this dozing had occurred just a handful of times. Only once did any loss of life occur. I was forced to conduct an emergency landing on the busy highway 101 skirting Los Angeles. Miraculously, I emerged from the wreckage unscathed. My cargo however did not evade the grim reaper. Sixty seven FBI recruits were unlucky and perished on impact. Fortunately, there were insurance policies in place to protect against such a tragedy and after a short investigation, some national media coverage, and a stint inside Army's psych-tech unit I was permitted to resume flying.

I felt exhilirated by this current close call and explained to the good doctor,

"Everything is fine, relax, and please take your seat."

Brenner looked worried but retreated back into the aircraft to rejoin his collegues, muttering under his breath.

Some coffee was certainly in order at this junction and I called back to the doctor,

"Hey Brenner!"

He peaked his face back into the cockpit.

"How about a cup a joe, will ya?"

The blank stare across his countenance told me he didn't take kindly to requests from a mere pilot like me, but I knew he'd fetch the coffee. After all, the success of this entire trip depended solely on me. Once again Hans withdrew to the rear, muttering.

Checking the cabin pressure and consulting my GPS equipment, I determined we were somewhere above bolivia and had a long way to go.

Just then a young woman who I'd noticed before takeoff came right into the cockpit.

"I don't know what it is you fink you're doing but you'd better cut it out. You've got Brenner all in a state. He's making us nervous."

Her English accent and doe eyes had me 'all in a state' but I played it cool.

"Oh let him be, he's fine, probably figuring a way to hoodwink those villagers. Name's Mack, didn't catch yours."

I held out my hand. She looked at me, eyebrows raised.

"Didn't frow it now did I?"

Sheesh somebody woke up on the wrong side of the fuselage, I thought. I withdrew my hand and fixed my gaze elsewhere. To my surprise she climbed into the empty copilots seat beside me.

"Sorry," she said. "That was rude, I'm Maggie Grantham."

She didn't offer a hand and her eyes remained steady forward but I could feel the mood shift, the tension lessen.

Over the mountains and jungles of Bolivia and on toward Venezuela and Brazil our conversation flowed effortlessly. We laughed. She shed a tear recounting her parents tragic deaths. We even began to flirt.

"I feel as if I've known you all of my life," she quipped, a radiant smile beaming my way.

I can remember thinking to myself how quickly time seemed to be moving. In the blink of an eye most of the passengers were asleep and we were quickly approaching the notorious Bermuda Triangle. Then, the plane lurched westward, took a deep dive about one thousand feet and I scanned the outside of my plane, searching for some cause. I recovered and found my bearings as Brenner invaded the cockpit once more.

"Shut up!' I barked before he could say a word.

"Just some turbulence, we're above water," I explained.

"Uhm well, there's a bit of a problem." Brenner stammered.

Although we hadn't gotten along pleasantly before now, I took his tone and demeanor seriously. Something was up. Once again, the aircraft took a heart pounding dip.

"Spit it out damnit!" I yelled.

Maggie looked from Brenner back to me and I could see the horror etched into her face. Her slender hand came up to cover her mouth, that universal sign of shock and trepidation.

Brenner began, "Our specimen is awake." He paused before continuing. "And angry.", he finished.

"So get it back to sleep, calm him down, that creature's gonna put us at the bottom of the Atlantic!"

Of course there were marine biologists on board who could sort this thing out. I figured there'd be tranquilizers, restraints, maybe a soft ballad to soothe the disturbed monster. But alas, the team's supply of heavy sleep-inducing narcotics were smashed, their glass vials shattered just as the squid's supposedly "safe-tested" enclosure had. Now there was a veritable ocean, ten thousand cubic meters of South Pacific salt water squelching, sloshing freely in my airplanes lower hold.

I feel at this point in the story it would be prudent to elaborate on the unique design of my custom C130. This wasn't just any old transport plane. The wingspan was fifty yards across, imagine half a football field! The body was about as wide as 3 school buses. Unlike the Airbus and popular passenger plane, the Boeing 787, my aircraft didn't utilize the latest lightweight alluminums and poly-carbons. Good, old fashioned American steel and a kevlar coating was necessary. At the base it was nicknamed 'the battleship' and onlookers, no matter how many times they'd seen it airborne, were truly dazzled by its ability to fly. The gunmetal grey paintjob added to its naval mystique but its official mandate was secret and not necessarily commissioned by any of the branches of our military. The giant aircraft contained two levels, the upper being small, cramped, and exclusively for passengers and crew. There was a ramp that folded down and out at the back of the plane to accomodate Humvees, tanks, advanced weapons systems, or any other large loads. The cavernous cargo hold, or "belly of the beast", which held the giant squid was retrofitted specifically for the journey. Because of the large volume of salt water the squid needed to remain alive, a waterproof spray was applied to the walls, floor, and ceiling before the squid's humongous tank was secured within.

When I first took this assignment, my only hesitation was about the immense volume of water. Surely the plane would be more difficult to operate, and a thin margin for error made this endeavor a risky operation at best. Now, faced with the prospect of a writhing, tentacled, and angry squid, negotiating the craft was nothing short of suicidal. Something had to be done.

Then it hit me. While in Argentina I made a personal purchase. I met Juan Carlos in a saloon about half a mile from the tarmac. Procured by Juan Carlos were four hundered fifty, sixty milligram quaaludes, a bygone intoxicant completely unavailable stateside. The leather jacket I had hung on a hook behind my seat contained the pills. I knew from firsthand experience the sedative properties of the quaaludes, just five of these could knock an elephant unconscious quite easily. Certainly a dozen or so could act the same on the squid.

I clambered behind my seat, spilling my untouched coffee. As I grabbed for my jacket I relayed my plan to Brenner and Maggie. Amid shouts of protest I exited the cockpit and made my way to the hold. I prayed the short lesson I'd given Maggie had sunk in.

"Just keep us in the clouds!" I shouted.

I climbed down the staircase. Before I reached the floor my entire body was submerged. There was no sign of the researchers from Germany. Fluorescent running lights flickered above me creating an eerie sense of doom. I worried about electrocution but quickly stowed the thought away. Any fear now would paralyze me thus dooming the entire flight. Armed with the sedatives and a strong sense of valor, I plunged into the frigid depths.

Immediately I became disoriented as I was gripped round the waist by a tentacle and flung helter skelter around the hold. As the beast brought my writhing body toward its chomping beak-like jaws, I grabbed the only thing within arms reach - a crowbar. The intentions of the squid were clear, I was to be the dessert which followed the two scientists who woke the beast. As oxygen quickly left my bloodstream I lashed out, forcing the crowbar into the squids beak, jamming it open and force-feeding the quaaludes into its gullet. I felt the tension subside and the tentacle release me. I scurried to the surface, grabbed hold of the ladder, and took a huge gasp. I had done it. The immediate threat was over.

Now what were we to do about the loose water, unbalancing the plane every second, putting our lives in jeapordy. Soaking wet, I collapsed into the cockpit and resumed control of my airplane. I explained to Maggie and Hans the circumstances we found ourselves in.

We would have to dump the squid.

Hans turned white as a ghost. He had just released the two hundred thousand dollar payment to the fishing village. This mission was the culmination of over two years of field work and exploration. He put up a token resistance but he knew it had to be done. The lives of him and his crew were at stake.

I took the aircraft slowly and steadily down toward the waves of the Atlantic ocean. We became dangerously close to the surface when Maggie yelled,

"Stop, hold one minute!"

She tore down to the lower hold before I released the ramp and she secured a tracking device to the squids tentacle.

"We'll find him again Dr," she said soothingly, patting the scientist on the shoulder.

"We'll find him again." He repeated with conviction. They returned to Mack's cockpit with a new mission on the horizon.