I was once told that I have a distorted view of the world. That I see the world through a sort melancholy. A kind of dystopia. Instead of seeing the potential for greener grass, I see only deepening charcoals and fading blacks. It’s true, that this is how I see the world. I merely disagree with that being a distorted view.


The path that I have chosen to walk has lead me to certain areas within this unhinged world. I have seen chaos in the purest form. I have seen the callous nature in which man treats another. I have seen blood that is intended to remain inside of us, drawn and splayed onto floor tiles, carpets and walls. Doorways and ceilings. I have held another’s blood on my hands. Watched it fall from my fingers. I have stepped onto its sticky remains, and unwittingly knelt into pools of it. I have had its bitter piquancy punish my tongue. I have watched as the living become the dead. I have stood hopelessly idle, knowing there was nothing I could do. I have watched light become dark. I have seen the sun set and the moon rise. I have also seen the blackest of skies. This is not distortion. This is reality, My reality. And a reality that only select few understand. A brotherhood of the lost and the damned. We are not condemned to remain lost or damned. But, we are irrevocably burdened to have lost who we once were.



When a man suffers loss, or loses those around him who are meant to keep him sane and grounded, there is not going back to the man he once was. There is only moving forward with the man he has now become. A man who sees the world differently than most. A man who has tasted its disgusting bitters, and dined on its revolting realities. Again, this is not distortion, it is a lesser known reality.


In my reality, the one in which I now live, I hate the sun. I can’t stand it. Its rays no longer feel like warmth to me. Instead, they feel more akin to the lashes of a whip. A burning embrace from an unwanted foe. A scorching reminder of the dead who are doomed to become ghosts. My ghosts.


It reminds me of the dead fat man lain face down in his apartment. He had left his shower running. That was the first sound to be heard upon entering his modest home. A hissing of running water carried the vapor of death throughout the nooks and crannies of this place. The scent of death was so strong, I could almost smell it with my eyes. The fat man who was bloated and discolored, lay face down on the floor, his head turned towards us. A pathetic look of nothing adorned to his face. The beaming light of the sun breaking in through his patio doors highlighted him as a centre piece to the environment. It was also baking him to a grotesque perfection. Not a golden brown, but a purplish black and grey. A gelatinous fat man. That is what the sun reminds me of. One example of many…


Through the years and while traveling down this chosen path, I have found myself in many different places. Some of which become places of refuge. Places where reality is paused for a while. I have been to many places where it is best to avoid anything from a glass but, being a lover of whiskey, I took my chances. Many rickety a bar stool have supported me in my times of need. The warm hug of whiskey in my mouth, and then my chest, masquerades a comforting friend on many evenings. In the mornings, he is gone, and only pain remains. This too, is not a distortion of reality. It is just a reality for some. Some like me.


I do not have the worst life in the world. That is a reality I fully understand. But I do have a life that few comprehend, and that is also a reality I fully understand. Though, you may not.


Distortion: A lie, exaggeration, or misinterpretation. That is the definition. When I look at my life, and the lives of the people whom I have encountered, as well as those lives lost, I do not feel as though I am distorted in my view. Not my view of myself or the world around me. I feel it is accurate. It’s just bleak and grey. And no one likes bleakness or sadness. Why do you think we created fiction? …


I do not see the world as black and white. Like I said, charcoals and greys. Now, while that may not seem lovely and hopeful to you, hell, it may even appear distorted, but to me, it just is what it is. My world. I will never go back to the technicolor of the “real” world. That is impossible.


As much as I hate the sun, I love the rain. I love the endless sprawling of grey clouds. I do, I really do. My hope is, that one day, I can learn to love the greys within my world, my reality as well. One day…


I don’t think that’s distorted. I think that’s just reality. A reality that few understand…


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