The reason I do what I do...

[And there it was. In the blink of an eye I had seen that which forced me to do the things I had. It stood there, a constant grin locked upon it's bony face. As if he knew the fate of myself, and all the world but didn't want to spoil the ending. My mind raced ahead, trying to guess what this skeletal apparition had in store for me, was this the work of some Charles Dickens studying deity trying to toy with my conciousness? Sending his or her messenger to speak to me, tell me the error of my ways and make me want to change them. No, that couldn't be it. For now, in retrospect, it was this very "messenger" who forced me into what I was.]

[There I sat, in a cold sweat, looking into the eyes of what could very well be considered... my maker. I was just a boy for god's sake. I wasn't ready to be dealt life's filthy lesson. When most people are asked when and how they lost their innocence, they mention a girl or boy who eventually broke their heart, but what did they expect when they did "IT" in the back seat of a car like rabid dogs. I lost my innocence the night I woke up and was greeted by the sardonic sneer of death itself. Was it mere coincidence that it came to me on this night; The very night my poor parents had a fight that nearly put an end to all that which they had worked so hard at building.]

[Imagine with me for a moment, you are an eight year old boy, in you're room, it is thundering outside the likes of which you haven't seen in all you're short life. You wake up to the sound of a bottle being broken, or maybe it is a dish whizzing past you're mothers head in the heat of battle. Harsh words are being said, mainly over the idea that perhaps you're mother is in fact cheating on you're beloved father. When you're a boy this young, family is all you have, its that last remaining lifeline when "phone a friend" , "fifty-fifty" , or "ask the audience" fails utterly and completely. And maybe the fear of losing that security you feel when you hold both you're parents hands is what makes you dream up weird visions. I'm still trying to decide whether or not I imagined this bony spectre just mere inches from the side of my bed, or if I really did see it, and it showed me all the bad aspects of the world. I saw all the things that were bad in human kind through those hollow cavities that perhaps once contained eyes, and I never once left the comfort of my bedroom. While my parents continued their argument downstairs, I was shown the harsh truth of it all. ]

[Insanity is a weird thing, it isn't one of those things like a graduation, or a prom; It isn't an event you can catalog in you're memory citing when and where it first popped up. And who knows, maybe I am insane, and maybe I'm not. But I can logically say that this one singular event led me down the path that has gotten me to where I am today, for better or for worse. Maybe this ghastly phantasm manipulated me, I doubt it, but perhaps it was hell's way of strengthening its grip on the world through the creation of yet another unstable man. If it was, then I'd have to congratulate those in charge of sending this... thing before my sight, because it surely worked.]

[And so it was the very image of death that forced me to injure a boy my age so severely that he won't be walking again, ever. I lied when I told doctor Debra Coleman that it was an uncontrollable urge, I lied to her to protect my self. What would a trained psychiatrist say to a boy who claimed to see the grisly sight of death itself in his room one night and led him to believe that acting out in such violent fits of rage was the only way anymore. There was no way in... HELL I would tell her I believed that logically... if the rest of the world was this way, why shouldn't I too be the same. And so mere days after I crippled that boy, I lied to what would be my permanent therapist. Perhaps I was inevitably giving birth to the idea of pleading insanity, if only Loreena Bobbit knew of my escapades when she comitted her own dirty deed.]

[Who would have thought that manipulating someone in a place of authority could be so easy? I led Debra Coleman down a primrose path merely so that I could stay with my family. I'm sure that makes me out to be selfish, but who isn't? Do you mean to tell me you've never put you're own needs ahead of anyone else basically because you realize when it all comes crashing down, everyone else is looking out for their own a**? I'd say anyone who wasn't admittedly selfish was either lying or selling something, and that's the truth as I see it.]

[I can imagine, that by now; This far along in the story you, the reader must be confused, how does a boy justify hurting another by saying "death made me do it." I guess it's better than saying the devil made me do it. And I don't know how to make anyone understand why it is I did, and do the things I did and still do, because it's my own justification, maybe in the end it all came down to what was already inside of me. I find it hard to believe any man or woman is born with violence inside them, it is instilled in them during their life until it fills them up so much they snap, releasing it on anyone who even looks at them funny. Maybe my life was building up to this meeting with the thing I call death, and is just my way of explaining things. Who knows.]

[But so I suppose the idea of me lying to a psychiatrist to maintian my happy homelife is understandable for a child, but it doesn't necessarily explain why I kept the lie up for ten years. I myself don't know why I did. I probably already knew of the other incidents in my mind and wanted to save myself any further explaining. I'd have to say that no matter what, that lie worked out for me in the long run as well as short term, as I now find myself preparing to live a dream of mine. I get to wrestle, putting to use all the fighting styles I've accumulated. I know what you're thinking, how can anyone let a relatively insane child study martial arts. I don't know myself, but all the same I've mastered quite a few of them through books, and television, and even some lessons.]

[Everything in life is based around what happened before it, so if we were to travel back in time to change an event we were unhappy with in our lives, the odds are that we'd change just about everything after it. I wouldn't change anything. I've manipulated my doctor twice, the first was to save my neck, the next was to convince her that it would be suitable therapy for me to join a wrestling association. I'll spare you the details and cut to the "nitty-gritty". Wrestling was a hobby of mine for quite some time, I mean, what better way to please that thing inside of me that feared the spectre of death, than to beat people up for money. And that was realized to me by the idea that I was more special then all of these so-called wrestlers, they all fought either for the money, the glory of it, or just to make a name for themselves, I fight for the shear love of carnage, I please that thing is inside of me everytime I do hurt someone. As bloodthirty as it sounds, it makes sense to me. If everyone on Earth is in fact a reincarnated soul, then I would probably be the soul you'd find on each and every major battlefield shooting dead bodies for that extra hint of ultra-violence, or continuously impaling defenseless people with my spear.]

!---------------------------------------!

The reason I do what I do, to those that I do it to...

[I often find myself staring down from my apartment building at the people milling around below me. I wonder if they know where they're going, or if they are just out to be part of the "hive". We must seem so foolish to those higher up from us. Maybe that night I saw whatever it was I saw because it had so much to show me and to teach me about myself. I don't believe that I am any more crazy then Richard Simmons, yet I am slightly weirded out. I saw this through those lifeless cavities of my spectral friend, up was down, right was left, it was as if I had stepped into the bizarro world. But I soon realized it wasn't any other dimension, or anything that would make it different from where I live, in fact, it is where I live. No matter what people believe morally, we're still all going to be confused as hell. We've managed to build a world where everyone goes in opposite directions simply because they think that in doing so they'll make their life better, and hence why I discount anyone's claims at not being selfish. If we all weren't afraid of going the same way as everyone else, maybe we might actually get somewhere, rather than moving in a perpetual circle, if history surely has to repeat itself, it is because we are all too stupid to realize it repeats itself because we repeat ourselves.]

[Perhaps my previous analogies to explain myself have been unable to do it accurately enough, let me put it another way. Beating people up could be interpreted as beating some sense into them, make them realize that we have to work together. And rather than judge one another, we judge ourselves on a whole. And sure, not everyone might agree with how I give my message to the world, at least I do in fact give it, which is more than I can say to a lot of people. My convictions may not be widely tolerated or accepted but I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty in the process of spreading the word. Don't get me wrong, I don't walk around with a holier then thou mentality. But I can say I hate anyone who isn't like-minded. I don't agree in a single collective conciousness like the "Borg" of Star Trek fame might have us all believe is the right way, I just believe we owe it to each other to listen.]

[Lucky monkeys, that is all we are. I can't imagine a more humbling phrase, beating out "where's the beef?" by a nose. The thought that for all our glory, all our technological advancement, it could just easily have been Lizard kind on their way to the Mir space station right now. And yet despite that I still get people in my face daily telling me what it is I should believe, and then those same people turn around and tell me to be myself. How can anyone buy into such bullsh*t? Isn't it obvious to everyone that man made god so god could make man? Am I the only one whose ever had a ghastly vision of death to open my eyes and see the world for what it is?]

[I believe that not only did that night, looking through the portals of this being's eyes, change my mentality, it changed my life, however obvious that is. I think that despite my radical views, I'm the only one to make us all believe that we're doing the wrong things. Why explore space when we don't even know what is at the bottom of the ocean, or for that matter where the bottom of the ocean is. And hence why I crippled that kid. I figure it should be plain to see why I did it but I'll spell it out; He was arguing over something that didn't matter, a swing, and so I opened the doors of perception for him by throwing his battered skull into a wall forcing the vertebraes in his backbone to jam into one another. It was a harsh lesson but I just know I got through to him.]

[When I look at an anthill, I think to myself what sheer perfection it is to see everything working in such clockwork order. They work together for the common good, and I've never seen a single ant colony go bad, never any disention in the ranks. So what is so bad about being an ant besides the whole magnifying glass problem? Absolutely nothing, if only humankind would realize what a mistake we're making trying to be so different, I can't stress that idea enough. And so my agenda in Gladiator Wrestling is clear, eventually make everyone realize they're wrong, so I can finally stop pummeling and pummeling. All a means to an end.]

[So, as I looked through the eyes of this being at the foot of my bed, I felt an eerie calmness brush over me despite the fact that I was being confronted by something supernatural. I felt as if all the preconceptions I had had about the world were suddenly being rewrited within me making me feel more wholesome. In this time, I felt at peace with myself and the universe itself. I can't really describe it as a feeling of joy, or any sort of happiness, it was more like profound sadness, like it seemed as if we had come so far, but there was still so much farther to go. This being was showing me things not only about the world but about myself and how much I had to learn about the follies of everyday life. Sure I was only eight years old, but there was no time like the present to understand my life.]

[I make it seem as if I believe I've been given a religious quest that I'm embarking upon in the Gladiator Wrestling Association, that assumption would be incorrect. I have never been much for religion, I just feel as if that night was the night I realized I had to deal with the world on my own terms and carve my own niche out of the world. That night helped put a firecracker up my a** that would force me into making my own destiny, and maybe in some weird way I'm trying to show that same eerie glimpse of the future to everyone I end up hurting. Maybe making them all come close to death helps them realize what the true nature of their life is. Maybe I, in a sense have helped some people discover the meaning of their life through severe injury. I wouldn't proclaim myself a saint, but I'd definately say that I have my head on straight no matter what any psychiatrist says.]

[And, hopefully when I do pummel those men in that ring on Wednesday, despite some bumps, bruises, and lacerations they'll realize that I have my head on the right way, and in a sense I'll spot myself some respect from peers; People who never gave two spits about what I did with my life. Each and every person I see on the street, or in my travels makes me think how doomed we all are. But maybe if I can just beat the sense into enough influential people, I'll have a shot at changing things for the better.]

!---------------------------------------!

In Pursuit of that thing that makes me whole...

[I'm sure everyone at some point in their pre-adolescent life developed a crush on someone much older than themselves. Maybe a teacher, or someone's parent, I developed an obsession for Doctor Debra Coleman. It was all these push and pulls tugging away at me. I felt bad for lying to this goddess on Earth, but I had to. It can also be inferred that I lied to continue to be able to see her. I'm not all bad as most people will believe. Like most people my heart is warmed by the look of someone they cherish. I'd gladly wade tear a limb off if it meant I could manipulate Debra to love me in the same right that I do her. She is my doctor and there are rules forbidding that, but just being in her presence in that office has the opposite effect of what it felt like to look into that creatures dark crevasses.]

[When I looked deeper down into the beings eyes I saw this image, and it made sense that with changing the world came self improvement, and ultimately the change of myself. I felt frightened and afraid, this being stood there in all its mysterious splendour showing me so many different about myself and the world that I wanted like anything to cry out for it to stop, to leave me alone, to let me live in peace like any other normal child. But for some reason I didn't, it fascinated me that I was allowed to glimpse at myself through such abstract images, to try and make sense of things through metaphor and symbolism. At that time and for quite a while afterward I didn't understand why this particular sight was beheld by me through my very own grisly looking glass, but I do now. When I look into Debra Coleman's eyes I see that which makes me complete, that which places the final bit of glue to the binding of my soul. But I can't seem to reach her so intensely as she does me through different psychological methods. For the most part she understands me, without knowing the full truth she realizes what makes me tick. But for the life of me I can't understand what I'm not doing to make her want me.]

[I know I wasn't raised with the knowledge on how to communicate with most people, or how to deal with basic situations, I was too busy worrying about death to care about anything else. But if only I could let Debra Coleman know what an inspiration she is to me to make it so I don't have to think the way I do. She makes stormy days become sunny days, and makes wasps into butterflies. When she is around its like there isn't anything in the world that can touch me, I feel invincible to the extent that death is but a passing thought. I try so often to give her subtle hints as to what I'm thinking of her right now, but she either doesn't pick up on them or ignores them, possibly with a constant nagging reminder that I'm her patient, not her lover.]

[The first time I lashed out anyone was out of the knowledge that the kid was wrong. The next time was more for attention from this woman, which I'm actually ashamed of. It had been so easy to make it possible for me to keep coming for sessions with this woman. But it was impossible to keep her sustained on things to write home about me. I found our sessions to be routine after a while. She asked me the same questions, mentioned the same theories as to what was wrong with me, and I detected a sense that soon she felt I was going to be okay. But I wasn't okay, I was nowhere near being fine, this woman had made me feel better than I ever did and she was going to get rid of me, and soon. So I did the only logical thing I could think of. Two years after my first session I crippled yet another person. This time it was someone older than me, an elderly man actually. Imagine my chagrin when I found no one around for me to hurt when I needed it the most, hence why I don't like the summer months.]

[The session immediatly following the second, mishap was a tough one. She seemed to struggle with anger over me being so disrespectful. But I don't think it was as much that as it was that I had been unaffected by years of her hard work. It must have reflected badly on her when she was judged by her peers. Again my selfishness knew no bounds, I was willing to jeopardize the career of the woman whom I was falling head over heels in love with. I'm lucky that it wasn't that serious, it just meant she was going to have to try harder at reaching me. I let her get as close to me as she could before it was her who was backing away from me for getting too close. I sensed soem attraction to me from her at some points, whether that was just my wanton lust talking or it was for real, it didn't really matter.]

[And thus carried on a cycle for our sessions, everytime I'd feel the pangs of panic that she'd soon signal an end to our therapy I'd lash out in some making it seem less and less likely that I was mentally stable. And I continued my lie, for now it had gone deeper than just my belief that death had shown me the right way, but now the love of a woman was affecting my outburts, controlling them in a way. But with all this came the notion that I wasn't fulfilling myself this way, I had to make it so she returned the feelings I felt for her. I knew that that image I saw in those hollowed out eye-sockets was to be perhaps the final remaining piece of the puzzle. I knew my soul's search for meaning would end once I had finally managed to move her to my side, so to speak.]

[It came to the point that I laughed internally at some of the theories about me her colleagues and herself had come up with. They even considered it to be a brand new mental condition they'd never heard of before. I, a now ten year old boy was fooling some of the most respected psychiatric minds in all of Canada. I wish they would have flown in experts from Austria, America, or even Iceland to examine me, it would have been such a treat to hear these people discuss my mental condition like it were actually real. All I could think of when these people discussed me was Marlon Brando, eat you're heart out.]

[To this day I am hoping that all my efforts aren't going to be wasted by never feeling the returned love of Miss Coleman. It would mean that anything I saw within that skull was a lie, and the depth of my betrayel could be traced to my very soul. It would be a shame to waste a life on a joke that never ended with a punchline, that would be like an Adam Sandler movie without him using a somewhat hilarious voice. I would feel cheated, but from what I know to be true, everything in my life is leading up to the moment I kiss Debra Coleman, at that point I know all will be made clear to me. And deep within me I know that whatever searching I have left, it is to be done with Debra Coleman close by.]

!---------------------------------------!

A room with a view, but no doors...

[I looked deeper into the face of death, farther down the unfathomable depths of it's existance and saw this image. I haven't fully interpreted it's meaning in relation to me and all the other images I saw that night. But what I've come to realize that I, myself am trapped in a room without doors, only windows at which to perceive the world. Everything is interconnected as I've said, every image I saw within that creatures eyes was building on to the other. If I corelated each instance with other I'd understand the meaning of my life so completely. But to explain this image I need to move outside the confines of myself and discover that which is unseen by me. For instance, how can I discover how I'm supposed to get out of this room if it is only windows. Do I somehow have to metaphorically create doors for myself? If that were true then wouldn't I have already done so in forcing my fate to unravel at my beck and call rather than wait for it like soem fly caught in a spider's web.]

[The feeling I got when I looked through the phatasm's eyes at this image, I got the feeling that I was being watched, that whatever decision I made would be carefully judged by whatever manner of beings it was watching me. Perhaps it was the birdlike creatures percher on the window sills looking in opposite directions that were symbols for something I had yet to comprehend. And as I sit here and try and figure out what it means I keep thinking about how this could possibly connect to Debra?]

[It was so hard to look into my soul for answers when I wasn't sure where to look and how hard to try for them. Of course as with any spirtual journey I knew it would take some deep digging to find the answers to those specific questions. If only the amount of perspiration was halved by the amount of inspiration it took to get this far along in deciphering the enigma that had become myself. It was conceivable that the first major life change for me occurred when I was confronted by this spirit in my room that night, and I had a hunch that the next major change would occur once I solved this mystery, in fact my whole life probably hinged on the outcome of my deliberations on this topic.]

[I tried to think of it on all levels, what could any of the symbols mean in this image. From the moment I had first seen the apparition of what I believe to be death this image was the only one that had given me such grief. Maybe it was the immaturity with which I dealt with the situation, I had so much yet to learn as my previous images had all taught me one by one. This image would be the same, it would take me years to learn what it meant, what it was trying to tell me about my life. I was beginning to wonder, however if I had finally arrived at an empasse. It was starting to seem like I had. I had figured the most confusing of images out and yet, for the life of me I had no idea about this particular one. I wanted to call in the help of some native who was keen on Vision quests, perhaps he could tell me about what I was after, because I sure as hell don't know anymore.]

[I can't possibly relate to anyone how frustrating it is to have the answer to a riddle of this magnitude on the tip of my forefinger and being unable to turn my hand over so that I can see it. I tried to concentrate now... what could it mean. Perhaps I was looking far too deeply into it, maybe it was simpler than I was making it out to be. But that idea seemed almost completely ridiculous. Somehow, my mind was on the verge of complete failure, not enough neural impulses to keep me satisfied, I'd surely rot here pondering over my existance, the pathetic life I've lead all because I had one hallucination caused by fear of having a broken home. But no halucination is this detailed is it? I've heard of instances where people have hallucinated en mass, and described everything with perfect clarity. But that was halucinations that didn't mean anything, THIS meant something, it had to or else my entire life is a sham, a big cop out.]

*Blink*

[And then just like that, in the blink of an eye, I had the answer. Without Debra Coleman I'd be confined to my "room" forever. It was her that made the doors, and I was to be the one to step through them. Why hadn't I figured that out sooner? It took me ten years to delve deep enough into myself to finally solve the last piece of a puzzle that may in fact be all there is to me. Was it truly possible that I was so caught in my own world that I'd need the help of a woman to get me out of it? I guess now is no time for chauvinism when I've just had a humongous spiritual awakening. But either way I feel as if a cloud has been lifted from around my shoulders, I believe I finally understand where it is I'm taking my life. It seems as if Debra is the apex of my life, when I finally get her to believe in me and make my unrequited love... requited than finally I'll have reached the pinnacle of my life and can retire to my grave.]

[When it all comes down to it, its funny how life is connected the way it is, one event leads to another, to another and eventually it all ends up at a crossroads where the person doing the living must make a decision of which path to take. Hmm, two birds with one stone, I finally got that Robert Frost poem, man am I good or am I good. I feel alive, for the first time in my life I feel alive. I'm going to go to Wednesday Insurrection, I'm going to employ my new found wisdom and attain a higher form of conciousness and I'm going to seriously whoop some a**.]

[Ah, the thrill of discovery, now I know how Jacques Cousteau felt everytime he plunged into the blue abyss of the ocean, or what Neil Armstrong felt when he first set foot on the barren surface of the moon. It must've been a humbling experience for them just as it is for me now. I now knew my purpose, my mission, my reason for being on this planet. It was and always had been Debra, and the continuing search to get her heart to beat only for me. My own heart was pounding.. this was the self discovery that my ghostly messenger was trying to get me to make. Things were falling into place for me now.]

*Snap*

[With the simple snap of a finger Marcus was brought back into reality. He blinked several times to moisten his rapidly drying eyeballs. He looked around loosely to take stock of where he was. He looked up to see a stocky man in a pin-stripe suit holding a gloved hand in front of his face ready to snap his fingers once again. As he took in his bearings he realized where he was, the bright track lighting, the man in the suit. He was at the Toronto Museum of art. The M.C. Escher gallery to be exact. Had he fallen asleep? Or was it a mere daydream? He thought back to all he had witness over the course of what could only have been an hour, he tried to remember if in fact any of that had happened the way he remembered it. Or if it was just another episode he was having.]

[He sat on a lightly stained wooden bench, facing a row of paintings, each were the ones he had seen within his dream, or whatever you wanted to call it. These were the times when having his condition were the worst, he had most likely been in a dream-like state, where his sub-concious seemed to take hold of him and often led him on weird adventures through the maze of his mind. The man in the suit sat down next to him letting out a sigh.]

Museum Guard: I personally like Monet. But to each his own right? [Smiles.] The museum closed about an hour ago. I was doing my rounds, and found you there. At first I had you pegged for dead, so I was basically in shock for a while. But then when you blinked I realized I was being melodramatic.

[The man was old and had an Ernest Borgneigne quality about him. A raspy yet inviting voice warmed up by a rather gaunt face, that was anything but mizerly. Marcus looked at him mildly astonished at what had just transpired.]

Gaines: [Fairly groggily.]What time is it? How long have I been here?

Museum Guard: [Glances at his watch.] It's close to eleven o'clock. As to how long you've been here. [Chuckles.] I haven't the foggiest.

[Marcus rubbed his eyes with his fingers. It was hard to beleive that after his session with doctor Coleman he came here. He never came here. And why he had chosen the surrealist paintings of M.C. Escher was beyond him. He'd never even heard of the man. He figured it was just stress, the kind of stress you get when you're going to a new place, one where you don't know what to expect. It made a lot of sense that he went here, maybe to some people these paintings could be considered calming. Marcus felt nothing but exhausted.]

Museum Guard: You all right? You look a little troubled.

Gaines: Yeah, somewhat troubled. Sure.

Museum Guard: [Surveys the paintings on the walls.] I really don't understand these paintings. What did Escher see when he first started out on them? Was he nearsighted? Was he reading some book involving Nostradamus when he painted these? I don't understand surrealism one bit anyway. Too much to think about.

Gaines: [Nods solemnly.] I agree. But still, sometimes thinking is a good thing. It cleanses the soul. I don't believe I did too much thinking just now though, more like vegetating.

[They smirked in unison, but Marcus didn't think this man could possibly know how vegitable-like he actually was, and Marcus didn't want to let this man in on any inside jokes.]

Gaines: The thing about surrealism is, it can be whatever you want it to be. What do you see in the one with the stairs?

Museum Guard: Well... I see a bunch of confused people.. Trying to find their way through impossible circumstances. Is that what you see?

Gaines: That's the thing. It doesn't matter what I see. Its all in the eye of the beholder. I end up relating all art to life in someway, most of these pictures are directly relatable to my own life experience. They all denote something about wrestling in all its forms. I've noticed a penchance in my imagination for wrestling as of late.

[The guard look at Marcus carefully, perhaps trying to see deep within him, to find out what he was made of. He obviously gave up his search and stared back at the paintings, or perhaps he hadn't given up, just found what he was looking for much too quickly.]

Museum Guard: [Shrugs.] Bah, never was much for wrestling, but to each his own, like I always say.

[The feeling of the museum at this hour, was quite refreshingly soothing. It reminded Marcus of Debra's office. That lovely sound the vents made when air was passed rapidly through them, made him tingle like he was now that he heard it an even more open space like this gallery. Marcus wasn't too eager on continuing a conversation with an old man he'd just met by getting gloved fingers snapped into his face, and so he rose off the bench and collected his coat which had been placed next to him.]

[The man watched Marcus intently as he prepared to leave without speaking another word. Marcus took a final look around the gallery and began to walk out. The museum guard called out from behind him.]

Museum Guard: Hey. What do you see when you look at these paintings?

[Marcus stopped jsut as he reached a doorway and pivoted on the heel of his foot. He looked the man over carefully, then along the rows of paintings done by M.C Escher. He surveyed them long and hard and then turned back to the man.]

Gaines: I see the stuff dreams are made of.

[Marcus turned around again, and flung his jacket over his shoulder as he sidestepped his way down the hall, leaving the security guard to himself in the