Hello my delectable readers!

I just want to shout out a big fat thank you to all the alerts and reviews and just you readers in general, because I feel happy when I read your responses. :)

We're almost there with the re-edits and I swear I shall be feeding you brand new unread chapters!

This one is still more of a filler—I couldn't get it right when I first wrote it, and nothing has changed, it seems...

Love you all,

t

TEN

I hate the fact that there is so much influential undirected anger towards everything and everyone in the world. People are filled to the brim with so much hate and anger and antipathy that they forget what it's for and it only fuels to that anger.

Even myself, listen to me...I speak so much about all the things that I hate. Yes, I suppose it's easier to release those feelings when you tap into your thoughts and know what it is that pisses you off. I guess hate is an easier emotion to feel and express than love is.

People don't seem to like anything, if we like something it's because we are drawn to its or their flaws.

I can never seem to make my mind up about the kind of people I like...if there is a "kind" of person—well, there isn't, really—it's the prejudices of human nature that have created these irrevocably if otherwise degrading genres we find ourselves being thrust into at every turn of our lives. I suppose though that there are two kinds of people—there are magicky types, and there are sciencey types. Maybe there are three, for those who find themselves either torn between either side or really just don't give a shit like me, or not so much like me, as I tend to favour science too.

I don't care if a person has magical theories or unexplained questions of life, or those with scientific theories. At the end of the day, whatever a person may think...not very much has changed. What really bothers me though, are people who are so adamant about things that are total bullshit. For example, a person who is convinced that the body is a mystery, or things like "the nature of the human soul".

In fact, people who go on about "natural remedies" or "homeopathic solvents" really bug me. When I was pregnant and almost due to go into labour, the only thing on my mind was "Give me those damn drugs!"

Herbs are used in medicine. There is no such thing as natural medical alternatives. Because by definition, alternative medicine has either not been proved to work, or proved, not to work. You know what they call 'alternative medicine' that's been proved to work? Medicine! What's the most commonly used 'natural remedy'? It's something that comes from the bark of a willow tree—it's a painkiller with virtually no side-effects and it has a weird name, better known as "Aspirin"!

One week.

It had been a week since I officially decided to suck it up and stay at the old red house. And the only way that I could think to describe what I was feeling was, well...weird was the only logical way to describe it. I had been here for a week, living in the home I spent a deal of my childhood and marital life in...and here I was again, with my...well, my family, in the very same.

The thing was, in my head, I'd been stuck here for a week. Trapped. I had not left for anything and it was starting to wear me down.

I can't believe I was saying this, but I was bored.

I can't believe that I was bored. I was never bored. I've never been burned in my life. I never actually understood people who get bored. What's there to be bored about, I wonder? I suppose that's the problem with people—we're all so bored. We've had nature explained to us and we're bored with it. We've had the living body explained to us and we're bored with it. We've had the universe explained to us and we're bored with it, so now all we want is cheap thrills and, like, plenty of them...and it doesn't matter how vacuous or tawdry they are, as long as it's new. As long as it's new and as long as it flashes and fucking bleeps in forty bloody different colours.

Throughout my life I've heard different names for different things...sometimes multiple names for one thing—but my favourite is most definitely the French term for orgasm, "La petite mort" or, as it translates to English as, "The little death". It's something that from the very moment I learned it, changed my views on death entirely. Many a person have said that death is a terrible, ugly thing...no matter how it happens, it's always the same and that a person reveals their true selves in that time.

I'm also a true believer of this theory, but ever since I gained that knowledge...I didn't believe it quite as much as I did. I want the French to be right, I want death to be like a big French orgasm—although meeting Saint Peter would be a little embarrassing, all smothered in grog and shrouded in post-orgasmic guilt.

If someone were to psychoanalyse me they would say that my love for solitude would stem from negligent parents...from the constant moving of homes, from not going to school. They would say that I love solitude because I lack social skills—though this is partially true. A stranger would say that I love solitude because of repressed memories that has led to agoraphobia—perhaps this is also partially true, who's to say? But here is why I like to be alone, because being alone is the only time I'm allowed to think and live in my own fantasy world without social standards and 'normality' to chide me.

People have a talent for sending out orders. They thrive on telling others what to do. I hate being told what to do...if I want to act a certain way on a certain day, then by all means I'm going to fucking do it. If I have a reason to be sullen and depressed, then that is how I'm going to be—don't tell me to smile, don't tell me, "It's a beautiful day, smile—I'm sure you have a reason to". Are people really so naive that they can be fooled by nothing more than a smile? As if a smile really brightens up a day, no matter how fake it may be. Have you ever wondered why people seem to have a strange obsession with shoes? I'll tell you why, it's because you can tell a lot about a person just by the shoes they're wearing. People love shoes because although many are oblivious to it, they are drawn towards it because shoes tell the truth. A smile can lie, eyes can mislead, but shoes, shoes tell the truth.

Some people think that if you posture your body in a certain way, your brain will follow. Or maybe the people watching you won't be able to see the real doubting, questioning, fearful you. And they say doing something you're told to and don't question or understand takes faith, but it seems more like fear to me. What if I were to slip away to the beyond and sent hurtling below because I didn't believe. I would be happy that I enjoyed life while I knew it. What's the point in living if it's just the line for the ride?

Think of your worst moment, the worst pain you've ever felt. That is what life is. To live through life knowing that this is the truth, that it is to acknowledge your existence. To believe in god is to doubt yourself. If I found out that god didn't exist, without a doubt didn't exist, I would be disappointed by the fact that I couldn't tell him to get fucked.

How cowardly, to have your creation doubt your existence. To not admit yourself as to avoid blame for the pain you create. We are to worship you but not hold you accountable for bad things that you could prevent.

Fuck you for not existing. If I can't blame god for something, then I won't thank him either.

And, to be fair—I hate myself too.

It's not a matter of believing or not believing. It's a matter of the fear of what may happen if we do, or don't believe. I don't even think I make sense half the time. I am a living contradiction. My views and opinions depend on my mood.

"Did you ever think that it would be like this?" I asked.

Jack gave me a funny look, "Be like...what, exactly?"

We were sitting outside on the grass, well...it was originally just me sitting here, watching the starry sky. I think he only joined to humour me.

"Just, this...did you ever picture where you'd be in the years to come? That this was how it was going to be?" I asked, curious, because I know I'd spent many hours pondering over what I'd see myself doing ten, fifteen years from then. It wasn't really what I thought, but then—nothing really turns out how we expect them to anyway.

I wasn't expecting him to answer, so I was a little surprised when he did. He took a while before answering me but he answered regardless, "I uh, suppose I'd wonder about it sometimes...but I uh, just can't picture myself as anything..." I think he may have wanted to say more, but didn't.

We hadn't glanced at each other even once. Both our eyes trained on the moon...full moon, unusually bright tonight.

"Wonder what the Earth looks like from up there..." I mumbled, before continuing on with my original topic, "So, you're telling me that you've never really, fully say down and thought about your future?" I found it hard to believe.

"Mmhm, that's exactly what I'm saying. Because there is no future. It's all an excuse for people to make it easier to uh, live with themselves. You—they, think that they can make the present palatable by projecting into the future, when they're really just living in the past. It's the future that fucks you up, doll. It's the maggot in the apple, it's uh, a bad joke. See, everyone's pissed off with the present, but there's nothing wrong with the present. The present's fine, the present's perfect, the present's peachy-fucking-creamy. The only thing wrong with the present is that the bastard doesn't uh, exist. Because the present is the future, and the future is the past...and it's all the same fucking bag of bones anyway. It's a constant process of coming into being and passing away...coming into being and passing away. The future is now. The present is now. The past is now, we're in it now, and it's gone again...see, we uh, were in it then, when I said it—but we're not in it now, we're not in it now, we're not in it now. We're forever being kicked up the arse with the future...I don't care what I'm doing ten years from now, because nothing's uh, going to change, Adelheid."

I sat, contemplating his words. Of course, he was right...but not completely.

"But that's just it, things are going to change, everything changes, is changing. Change has been happening from the very start...it's inevitable. Do you think the amoeba ever dreamed that it would evolve into a frog? Of course it didn't. And when that frog first shimmied out of the water and employed its vocal cords in order to attract a mate, or to retard a predator, do you think that the frog ever imagined that the incipient croak would evolve into all the languages of the world, into all the literature of the world? Of course it bloody didn't! And just as that froggy could never possibly have conceived of Shakespeare, so we can never possibly imagine our destiny from the millions of little changes that happen everyday. So you can say that nothing can change...anyone can, but as far as I can gather, what we're all experiencing is...with all these different manifestations of regression or precognition, or transmigratory astral bloody chatterings...is just the equivalent of that first primeval grunt." I said, finally looking at him.

As if to prove my point, he made some sort of grunt of acknowledgement, his tongue tracing the insides of his scars.

I sighed, content, "Anyway, I suppose it makes no difference now."

"For uh, what?" He replied.

I shrugged, "Everything. This—there's no point wondering about things now, y'know. There are other things to worry about. At least, for me there is...I'm providing for two, and making sure I don't fuck it up...what happened has happened now." I told him.

We sat in silence.

"...Jack?" I asked.

No answer.

"Jack," I tried again, in vain.

Sighing in annoyance, I rolled my eyes, "...Joker," I said, my voice monotonous.

He finally looked over at me, "Hmm?" That stupid smirk on his face.

"What—" I began, "What drove you to leave and become The Joker?" I asked, not really knowing why...it wasn't like he just knew why it happened, it was just one of those things that did.

He sighed in annoyance, "I think you know there's no real answer to uh, that."

Yeah, I suppose I did. But most of the time I figured I'd ask anyway. I didn't like not having the answers to things. I didn't like puzzles and mysteries. I didn't like anomalies. They bugged me.

I gave up on attempting to hold a conversation with him. It was like trying to draw information out of a brick wall. Even after being married to him for ten years I hardly knew anything about him at all. Jack never wanted to discuss anything...

And so, we sat in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts as we stared out at the sky above us...doing nothing but keeping each other company.

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