<loquacious> mat catastrophe is E2's posterboy for creative utilzation of Asperger's syndrome.

April 8, 2002

Marked the pavement along down the highway, moving south. Left the left side to look for the right side of the fight. No answers in any of the sacred books. No great mysteries that I can find, just an existence devoid of meaning. This is not simple nihilism this is not just an angst this is not just disappointment. This is resignment. A capitulation to a non-escapable conclusion. This is not the last word. This is also not the first world. You will understand only what you want, what your mind allows. All else is lost. Data noise stream out endless silence fuzz.

March 20, 2002

This is the way the world ends. This is the way my back bends. This is just a dream. This is just a nightmare. This is just the way things are. This is necessary. This is alive. A movement that is ignored is raging only against its own impotence. A clear case, the man said, of the chickens coming home to roost. Still the same case, brand new set of chickens. Chickens and their hawks, tonight on the new and improved War Reporting Service. All war, all the time. There is no news. There never is. Mindless drones mouthing mindless dreams. We've lost out path. Society is facade. A total sham. Civility is a key part of civilization and we've lost even that. We have now become a cruel realization of science fiction/futurist fiction. Our outlets are overloaded. Information overload. The media now moves too fast for events to keep up. Stay tuned as we tell you again for the fifteenth time this hour that someone is reporting that something has happened somewhere. We have a man on the ground. We have men in the streets. We have become too top heavy with our own stupidity, arrogance and insanity. Too convinced of our own infallible superiority. Superior forces can be beaten by even the lowliest of the low. Ask Lt. Calley. He'll tell you the truth. We are all only following orders, now. We are all only asking for more orders to follow. We will jump higher and we will like it, yessir.

March 12, 2003

She touched me lightly with the side of her hand the way you understand that something's wrong. My senses came back I was in need. Awake and cold, knowing that she was here to give me something I did not want. Something that I could never give back. And then it was over. She saw in my eyes that special sadness that you can only give someone once, before it all melts away. My pain burned up in the second between A and B. My life, bare, mingled with broken pieces of windows that my dreams jumped from. They shattered where they fell, more debris in the field below the window from a thousand littering passers. The bastards. Who knew living would be this much pain? Would you still have chosen it? Of course you would, touchy-feely fink. Well I ain't that way. I'm something else this time around and next time is worse. I'm counting to three.....

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