Expose The Tard Exposing the truth from as far back as 1993.

Friday, April 18, 2008

mini breakdown

This was one of the many journal entries he made leading up to his trip to Canada.

Instead of getting a motel as you know, he decided instead to sleep outside, in Canada, in winter. As usually he later bitched about the bronchitis that happened as a result.

You may remember Journalcon 2001 where again, instead of getting a motel room like everyone else there did, Nicky decided to sleep outside. In the mud. If I haven't posted that one let me know.

It is a month before I actually get onto the plane to go to Canada. Many are asking me if that I am nervous about this trip. In truth, it scares the shit out of me because I have no idea on how it would be up there. I hadn't been out of the country in almost a decade, but this trip I am packing as I would a backpacking trip because I wish to travel light. When I was obtaining my shit for this trip, I had many thoughts going through my mind at one time -- knowing that there would be something that would go terribly wrong on the trip. I say this because things happen like this in the past.
���My friends online are asking me why do I wish to go to Canada, it is like when I lived in Iowa and was coming home for a week; they would always want to know why I wanted to do something. It is something that would be in my mind for many nights leading up to the actual day that I would leave for O'Hare Airport on December 4th. I feel that this trip would be a help on my mental health since I got my disability from social security. Sure that I got this and know that everyone that I know would have their hand out like a mouse looking for cheese at the tip of the maze.
���My grandmother is wary about me going to Canada because I had a mini breakdown. I am in ways worried that this trip would not go as planned though I spent many months of careful planning since this is my first trip out of the States since I was 14, now it is almost 10 years later -- and in some ways my mind is like that 14 year old sitting on the plane on the fourth of July in 1991. Only this time that boy is 10 years older, and looking through the eyes from a pale shade of black.
��� Those that would see how I am now to what they saw of me back then -- those people would have a fucking chest buster. This is my first trip as a writer, one that had been writing as a gothic author since 1991, that I have many preminitions about this trip. I have many nightmares about what is to become -- knowing that it is going to be a colder climite, namely of dreams about being stranded in a barren wasteland within the American Prarielands. This was back on February 18th, 1998, when this occured -- during the time that I was staying with a lady that I have met on the internet.
����My thoughts would be racing up to the very day that I would walk through those gates of O'Hare Airport going to Sudbury, Ontario, from Chicago, Illinois. Which is why I am planning to stay at a friend who lives in Cicero, Illinois, since it would help with the effect of being away from home for long periods of time. Knowing that this trip is a month away, I have a lot to think about -- giving me something to write about before then. I was talking with my best friend about the trip thinking that he would be able to hang with me a few nights before I would go to the airport.
���Erica said that I could crash there before I have to catch my flight to Sudbury, Canada. My uncle and cousin had both took me to a local store to help me get outfitted for the trip -- women go by getting things that are trendy, and coming from a background where I was in Boy Scouts, I was told that I should be prepared for anything. I have been asked what I have for the trip so far -- packed as someone going to Burkisville, Maryland. I am one that likes to do a lot of camping, and loves to travel light.
���Some of my friends are saying what I am doing is a little over the edge since their ideas of roughing it is a shitty motel room and no electricity. If I mention the term sleeping under the stars, they would look at me like I am some nutcase -- though I have spent nights sleeping under the stars in the cemetery when I was living in Mason City, Iowa. I had always been one that would sleep in the great outdoors even in the dead of winter. I had been that way since I had gone with my scout troop to Michagan in January, if I can spend a month in a tent and under the stars I would be content with myself.
���Though as a horror writer, sitting around the campfires on a cold, October night, is where I had learned how tell that one ghost story -- that one that would weave itself into the Gothic horror tale. One cannot really sit and look into my very thoughts -- which is why I am taking up this collection of my thoughts into a diary that I am doing as a travel log, one that has to find some way to prepare for this trip to Canada.
���Some people pray to their Deity, and ask for a blessing from their religious elder. Then there is me, the writer, as I would be writing this, one would say that I have a lack of faith -- one would say the reasons things happen the way they do so one can grow closer to the Deity. That as I would crawl into my sleeping bag, I think about the things that I have been taught and of the things that were said by the clairvoyant. The thoughts that are in my mind are of the things that were told by the clairvoyant, and of the thoughts that were perceived by the youth pastor. There are many thoughts that I cannot begin to describe openly, though the things that are in my mind are of the days to come leading up to the flight to Sudbury.
���That one as I, looking into this trip as an option -- an option to heal as what my one friend would say, long journey is a way to heal a troubled soul. That as I would close my eyes to sleep, I began to think about the first trip that I took on the train -- it was a cold October night when I arrived in Iowa. It was a night that felt like one that was as a nightmare that I could not awaken from because I could not find a phone when I needed one.
���I was alone, it was a place where I did not know a single soul. Desolate -- a description that suited this place where I exited my sleeping car. One could not see the thoughts that were in the nightmares re-occurring within the mind about the time that one had to wait for the person waiting for me. This is the same kind of excitement -- same kind of fear, knowing that I don't know what the other would look like on the other end. So many thoughts that are racing, thought I would open up a blank page to begin typing before I would get some sleep.


Anonymous said...

Was Nicky buttraped by a verb when he was a child?

cussedness said...

So he goes to a major metropolitan area and tried to sleep out like a homeless guy in the middle of a Canadian winter?

I'm surprised he did not get arrested for vagrancy.

ExposeTheTard said...

Well the cops were call, cussedness


My fault I should try to post these in order. There is just so much crap to sift through.

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