Don Mann: Focusing on my Craft

Thursday, Mar. 24, 2005 - 5:27 a.m.

I just found this old piece of writing on my laptop. It's dated 101303...I read it, and found it actually quite...unique. So here it is, uneditted; me from almost two years ago.

Today is Monday the Thirteenth of October.

There was a short period of time where I wondered if anyone ever read my webdiary. I don't really know why I cared, but I'm guessing it's simply because of my need for people to acknowledge my work. I seldom write merely for my own needs, I write mainly to hear what my words may have made a person feel, what impact my writing has had on someone else.
Now, I really don't care if anyone's read my diary. At this point, I enjoy the feeling of accomplishment, knowing that the 50 words I put on that page really exist, knowing that my feelings or thoughts were concrete and available for me to reach later. Also, I've just decided to start formatting my writing into proper essay form. This way I get some much needed practice writing comprehensive essays.
Well, now for my own thoughts. Some dude, not sure what his name is, just asked for my number for the sake of helping him with this anthropology class. I'm kind of glad this class is so...slow. If it wasn't, I don't think I'd ever find time to write down these pointless little thoughts.
As cruel as it may sound, a lot of the women in this class behave as though they were minorities. There are people sitting in this very room who are constantly researching and talking about female empowerment and how they used to be put down and all this other bullshit. Listen, we're all the same, we just have different organs used for different functions. Women who argue about being seen as "reproductive machines" and being considered less than men are fools. Women CAN give birth. they should be proud of that. I'll never feel the love of putting another human being on this earth by cultivating it within myself. I don't necessarily want to, but still. In the end, man needs woman, and I'll always go crying back to a woman when I need to be loved.
Ooooh boy, this fucking exam is looking fierce. I'm beginning to feel like I may have needed to pay more attention in here. I think what I need to do is go over these terms again, because some of them are pretty vague. Bah, now we're learning about language. I am definitely not interested in any of this. Semantics are when you can relate a sound someone emits to how they are feeling. The meaning of the sounds is inherently understood. Like moaning when you're hurt. Or giggling when you're happy.
Oh my fuckin god. This man is teaching us how to pronounce words now. I really detest this so much. I should just take the review sheet and haul ass out of here. Ugh, this truly is intolerable. I'm normally pretty tolerant of things which bore me, but today spending three hours learning how to pronounce a long O sound is equivalent only to driving screws under my fingernails.
I wish I'd brought my Morrowind CD. That would have at least given me something interesting to do during this extra time. I think I'm going to start writing a story now. Within the next two hours, I'm sure I'll have completed something.

My story

What I'm about to herein record is totally off the cuff literature. I'm not going to spend more than a second glance to edit this piece, and I don't really intend to publish this to anyone. This is a cure for my boredom. None of the events herein have any bearing on reality or have anything to do with my friends.
~~~~~
I arose from bed at 3:30 in the afternoon. I like to consider myself a morning person, as I've been known to catch a late supper around 7:30 AM right before hitting the sack. I don't really have any good explanation for why I tend to avoid sleeping during the night, or why I also tend to avoid the daylight hours. All I know is that I can't stand being up from 9-2 during the day.

My sleep habits are completely irrelevant here. I'm supposed to be telling you my story, so here I go. It was 3:30, inching more and more toward 4 everytime I rolled over in the blinding light streaming through my window. So, I got up and stumbled my way into the bathroom for a wake-up shower. Yeah, I left my friggin contacts in again. I know I shouldn't wear them while I sleep, as the blurry fog and haze over my pupils was informing me. The problem is I'm lazy, and I know it. At least I'm not in denial about it.

The house was unusually quiet when I made my way down the stairs, my body still moist and my fresh clothes still sticking to me. My hair dripped a little, so I shook out the water like a dog. Charming, eh? Well, I'm not telling this story to impress the ladies, or else I'd have made a three page ordeal out of my shower time. Be glad you missed out on that.

As I was saying, the house was completely silent, save the buzz of a lawnmower coming from somewhere in my little cookie-cut neighborhood. I wondered where my mother was, because usually she'd be up and about and just arriving home from work. Meh, I didn't really care. I must've wondered for about a fifth of a second. I made my way to the kitchen, and if you've ever seen me, you can tell by my appearance I spend a lot of time in that particular room of my house. What I'm saying is I'm pretty big, in an eating-all-the-time kind of way.

So I was wandering about in the kitchen stealing bits and pieces of food from here and there, trying to decide exactly what would make up the bulk of my first meal, when I heard a thump in my basement. Now, my basement isn't the creepy-crawly horror film type basement you'd imagine most basements to be. It was actually quite a college-student bachelor pad hangout full of electronic sound-emitting equipment and computers and a television. I was always having friends over, whether we were watching cheap horror movies or getting drunk off of our asses and going on about how much we love each other. It wasn't a scary place, I tell ya.

I opened the door to the basement, and proceeded down the stairs. I hit the light switch, and only a single dim bulb illuminated the far end of the place. I have 8 possible spots for light bulbs, but my dork friends are always unscrewing them instead of walking over to the damn switch. It gets to me, especially on days where I'm stumbling blindly down the stairs and don't feel like splitting my own skull open. It especially gets to me when I hear a weird sound and I'm trying to investigate it. So I reached the bottom of the stairs, and cast a sweeping glance left over the basement. I could see what was near the bulkhead entrance, but the area directly in front of me was still shrouded in shadow. I reached up for a bulb, and screwed it in.
I let out a shrill sissie's scream as something latched onto my ankle.
~~~~~

"Gabe, you fuckin' bitch, I almost killed you!" I gasped, regaining my composure. I had totally forgotten my best friend was crashing at my place last night. Gabe was laying in his boxers on a mattress on my floor, covered in a shaggy blanket which was more like a cheap rug.

"You almost stepped on my head, you dick." He responded. I was surprised to find him awake, since he generally makes it a point to sleep for 18 hours at a time. He was a dirty young man, 18 years old, like myself, and topped with ratty long blonde hair down to his shoulders. His septum was pierced with a steel roundish shank running down from his nostrils, and three rings jutted out from his lips. I myself have no piercings, but I have long black hair which dries into a stupid looking 80's metal hairdo around my chubby face. It looked sorta cool wet, though.

He rose from the bed, one hand down his shabby looking boxers, just as it always seemed to be. If mothers paid as much attention to their children as he paid to his genitals, the next generation would be over-achievers. I try to avoid contact with his hands. I don't share sandwiches with him, that's for sure. He put on his shirt, a black Danzig shirt with a few holes in it. It was his trademark shirt, much like my black Tenacious D shirt. The only difference was that I wore other shirts regularly, and he wore that one constantly...like every day, every time he was awake. The same went for his black shorts, ripped up from countless encounters with sharp objects or scuffing on pavement. He made his way up the stairs into my kitchen, where I knew he'd begin quaffing lukewarm water in order to wake himself up.

I made my way over to my computer, and started up some music. Nothing starts off a day like rocking out. Except maybe for a cigarette. I reached over to my pack of Black Cloves, and lit one up. I turned down the volume, and picked up my Flying V and switched on my amp. I began playing some random stuff, just enjoying the sound of distortion ripping the airwaves in my dim basement. Gabe came charging down the stairs, yelling something at me. I knobbed down the volume on my V.

"What is it?" I asked, and then I noticed he had a package in his hands. No, not HIS package, like a fedex box or something. He handed it to me. I checked the shipping address, and it indeed was addressed to me. I set down my cigarette and took out my keys. I used my housekey to rip off the packing tape. Inside the box was a book. The front of the book was blank, bound entirely in black.

"I didn't order any book, dude." I said, opening the pages. There was a sound of thunder rumbling in the distance, and I assumed that the clear skies had been overshadowed by clouds moving in. I didn't have any windows in my basement, so I could only assume. I looked at the first page.

"Necronomicon Ex Mortuus." I said the words slowly, mesmerized.
~~~~~

"What!? Holy shit!" Gabe said, suddenly keenly interested. I looked at him and smiled.

"You sucker, I was totally bullshitting you."

"Oh, you dick. What is it really?" He wasn't angry, still interested.

I read the first few lines, and realized that all of the writing in the book was just that. This wasn't typed or printed, this book was written by hand in ink. It was some kind of spellbook, much like the one I'd tried to keep.

"It's some kind of spellbook, inked by hand. It doesn't have a title, and it doesn't say who wrote it." I was becoming more interested every second. The first spell was something about banishing misguided spirits. I flipped through the pages.

"A teleportation spell...dude, I wonder if this is all just crap, or if this thing's for real..." I was still thumbing pages, wondering who would have sent me such a thing.

"Does it say where it teleports you to?" He asked, moving now to my side to try and read over my shoulder. I looked harder, the writing difficult to make out because of the sloppy penmanship.

"This may sound really stupid, but I think we should try out some of these spells." I don't know what I was thinking, but it seemed like a really great idea. Especially since I was bored and didn't really have anything better to do. I had all the supplies I needed, since most of the practicing I did required it. This is the part in the story where you all say something along the lines of 'What the hell are you thinking' or 'That is the dumbest idea ever'. Something like that.

"What a great idea," Gabe said, a slight hint of sarcasm in his voice,"and then, after that, we can see if there's any demons we can conjure up in there too!"

"Har har, asshole. I'm serious. There's gotta be some reason a fellow druid felt the need to ship this to me. It'd be foolish to just cast this stuff aside."

I was already unpacking equipment out of my practitioner's bag. Sandalwood, saltwater, fresh sand, spearmint leaves. It was too easy. These were totally base items, any active druid, or even angst-driven teen would have them. I followed the instructions in the book for the teleportation spell. Of all the spells, this one interested me the most. The book claimed it would take the caster to wherever his heart desired, only you had to think of the place, and ignite the ingredients. I decided that at the critical time, I'd think of a place very nearby, and walk back to my house. If it worked, gabe would bear witness to the most amazing proof of the existence of magic.

The ingredients were set, and I sat in a circle of lit candles. Gabe was sitting at my computer, telling his friend Chris about what I was doing and how ridiculous it all was. I was totally set, and I was focused on my front porch as I held the pouch of ingredients over the flame. I lowered it, and the flame caught on the pouch.
~~~~~

A gentle breeze swept through my hair, and droplets of water were on my cheek. I opened my eyes, and I was sitting cross-legged on the far end of my front porch. I was floored. The teleportation spell had just WORKED. I stood up, and was out of breath with excitement. I ran to my front door, anxious to tell Gabe what had happened. I tried the handle, and it was locked. Damnit, I should've thought of that. I rang the doorbell repeatedly. Gabe soon sped up the stairs, his eyes wide with excitement.

"DUDE...I wanna do it." he said, also exasperated. I nodded and ran downstairs to the circle of candles. I had enough ingredients for two more trips. I decided then that it was time to try it with more than one person. I didn't know if I had to double the dosage, or if one was enough to do any number of people. I doubled the ingredients anyway, and Gabe and I sat in the circle.

"Where are we gonna go this time?" He asked. The decision was simple. We were going to go to my friend Jenn's work, at the mall, and catch a ride home with her. My whole body tingled with anticipation. I realized that it wasn't just anticipation that had me tingling, so I ran upstairs to the bathroom. Man, I was so excited I was almost pissing my pants. I ran back downstairs and looked to the circle of candles. Gabe wasn't there.
~~~~~
~Man, I was a silly chap back then.
-Don out

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