Category: Thoughts

I’ve moved over to 365daystowrite. That’s all, folks!


September 11th, 2001.

“The day Hell broke loose,” some call it. “The tragedy of our failures,” others lament. Nine-one-one. 9/11. It’s been ten years, now. Ten years since this event. Within only minutes, I found more than a dozen articles “dedicated” to 9/11, filled with rage towards the assailants. I found pieces of writing complaining about what should be the “main symbol” at the memorial. I’ve tried and tried again to connect with the writers, but I can’t; and it’s simple.

Their words feel empty to me.

There’s a lack of life and passion in the writing – only fury. I can’t tell you that I’m without anger at what occured. I’m beyond angry; but I hold respect for the dead. This article isn’t dedicated to what I think should be set as a testimonial in honor and remembrance now. This isn’t a justified verbal attack on the al Qaeda.

If I had the strength, this would have been a memorial writing to praise heroes and mourn victims.

Though ashamed, I’m not afraid to say that I don’t have that courage. When I woke up this morning, I went through a little over a dozen stories written down by survivors of the destruction. I left for church soon after; but when I returned, I spent another two and a half hours reading tales of heroes, people like us, who died. Social life called me away again between noon and 1PM. As soon as I got back to my laptop, I returned to my search.

A little after 1:00PM, I tortured myself, listening to recorded calls. I’ve pored over the transcripts of conversations; I’ve listened to the screaming; I’ve watched victims be forced out by the inferno to “jump” out of the Towers. I’ve observed a young woman – she couldn’t have been older than her early twenties – bless herself, spread her arms, and leap off a makeshift ledge that had protruded in the collision.

I’ve gone over the final words of several passengers on the different flights and I’ve heard the shattered, snapping crash of bones and building; the thud of bodies as they finally hit the pavement; the frantic attempts to escape made by many people who tried to climb to safer windows. People who died.

I stopped at 4PM. I couldn’t force myself to go further than my study of the Towers. The few gems of hope that I discover between these fearful videos and recordings couldn’t douse the pain that it left me with. I can’t explain to you how frustratingly terrible I felt, and still feel. I can’t make you know the emotion that’s welled up inside me, reading over these last moments. I can’t show you the panic.

I was going to write this as some great piece of literature. I couldn’t. I’m sorry for that, less so out of guilt, but more out of the feeling that I have somehow let them down by not respecting them as I so frequently preach. I can, however, state without a doubt that I will never forget them. And come this day next year, I’ll be at it again.

Dear Unlikely Hero,

I love you.

… Now that that’s out of the way, I can move on with this nonsensical rubbish. For as long as I can remember knowing you, you’ve been there for me. That’s not something I can say for many people. I never understood why I began to crave your attention… And I couldn’t stand it when you were disappointed with me — or rather, with some of the idiotic things I’ve done and said.

Regardless, you took on the role of my personal therapist. I’ve spoken to you about things I didn’t dare tell anyone else. Stranger yet, you’ve listened. You were – and are – open to my ranting and my rambling and my whining. You rarely turned me away, you offered advice, and you’ve challenged my thoughts and fears.

You’ve helped me so much; more than you know. If not for you, I wouldn’t have survived. I know it’s sappy, cliche and over-said, but it’s the honest truth. I’d be somewhere far worse (or I’d not “be” at all, if you catch my drift) if I hadn’t met you.

And I know I probably shouldn’t, but I feel as though I owe you so much more. I have never been able to fathom what you see in me. I know when you read this, you’ll probably tell me I’m being stupid, but it doesn’t change the fact.

I’m shy and timid to the point of being antisocial; I’m oftimes a clumsy dunce;  I’m socially awkward, especially with new people or People-I-Know-But-I’m-Only-Just-Now-Meeting-In-Person; I’m not as pretty as most girls; I’m quiet and not very outgoing at all; I must have the worst sense of humor to ever grace (or curse) a young woman; I don’t think I’m a very “touchy” person – in fact, I may very well be terrified of physical touch; my family is absolutely insane (in good and bad ways, but I can’t help that, can I?); I have a dozen suitcases stuffed with my own issues and fears; I’m needy when it comes to care and attention, but stubborn when it comes to helping me; I have a distinct lack of confidence; I’m an artist and a writer (need I say more?); I suffer from enough anxiety attacks in a single day to last four people half a week; I’m indecisive, and abnormally so; I seem to have a penchant for getting in trouble; I suck at conversations over the phone; I’m fairly volatile and beyond “moody”; I’m dumb enough to pick at all the itty-bitty wrongs with myself; I have a tendency to freak out at the tiniest of frustrations; and I actually wasted your time reading this and my time writing it.

… I’ve utterly forgotten where I was even going with this, now… Oh well. I’m sorry ahead of time for any agitation or facepalming I cause and uh… Yeah.

Sincerely yours and with much embarassment,



Never drawn a boar before. Never done a good job with pencil-coloring, either. And I accidentally tore the page…


If you cannot
find the truth
right where you are,
where else do you expect to find it?

If you do not
get it from yourself,
where will you go for it?

It’s frank, and it’s fucked, but I’m learning now that my heart isn’t breaking down; It’s my world. I need to get away from all the things that made me lose my mind before. I’ll write you letter after letter when I’m gone, to tell you that I made it, or that I cannot take this. Irate, caught in the worst storm inside of me, words start to feel misplaced. You were my friend, but now i’m taking you to hell.

So where the hell’s my hope, and why can’t I just try? You know I’ve lost a lot, but I won’t let this die. I’ve got all these plans laid out again like this is war. I came to your house to get you out of all this shit that held you down. I want to pray that I am doing everything right. Even though I lost my voice and then my mind, don’t worry, ’cause I’ll be fine.

A feeling’s just a feeling ’til you let it get the best of who you are. Am I in love? Or am I dreaming? Where’s my hope in all of this? No, no, I can’t tell you where I’ve been, but I hope to God you know I want to run away from this. There is not much to explain, except I find myself blinded by every bit of light.

I really think I’m gone. I set my words on the ground and I was grinding my teeth, stayed awake just long enough to see you. You know I’ve got some things to sing about. My heart woke up my head like a thunderstorm; you know that way things change when music takes up my life? I just want to hear you…

Would you believe in my songs if I gave them all to you? I’ll keep you singing along for all that I can… Yeah, this time, I’ll know what to say. I’ve been tearing out my throat with dangerous words. I wrote this song for you, kid; it’s not the reasons that I left, just the ones that kept me hanging onto you…

Am I wrong, or is this really what you want to happen? When all I want to do is have this, I’m not strong enough to breathe. I finally think I understand what she was saying to me; I think I’m ready to sing this time. You are my song, you are where I want to be; and I swear to god that I love you, ’cause I can’t explain it.

Treo FrenMeo.

Another try at drawing, and using pencils as well. Best viewing is 60%. Sylvan Minstrel is a… Well, I suppose it can be considered a signature. He belongs to a friend of mine.

Amaris Abiona


Amaris Abiona, the Sylvan Minstrel of my tales. I couldn’t get it into anything other than a pdf. file (I’m too lazy for that) so I refuse to convert it.