After my last post, I've gotten a few e-mails asking who "they" are. Heh. Some people thought I was some kind of wronged man who'd been screwed over in the past by "them." The elusive "them!" Well... it's not quite like that. No, I'm not the Batman type, if you understand me. "They" aren't anyone who have really hurt my family. Haven't killed anyone I've known. Probably haven't killed anyone, but who's to say, right? My neighbor has no idea that I've killed a few in my time (just that one last week, if you read that entry) and he and I are pretty close. Sometimes we watch the news together and talk about how the world has gone to the shits, and ain't it true enough?
Oh yes! I forgot to mention that last week was my sixtieth birthday. How interesting that on the anniversary of my coming into this life, I take another life. It should be a rite of passage. I propose that every time a man turns sixty, he should be allowed to kill a man with no repercussions! But in this disrespectful, shits society, how could a man be allowed to do such a thing? He wouldn't be. We're damn near a totalitarian government, because of it.
Tomorrow, I go fishing. Tomorrow, I make the first strike against "them." Don't e-mail me any "who are they" questions, readers, because if they happen to read this, they'll be spoiled! And no, no we can't have that. It has to be a very sneaky little surprise, when they find out what I've got in store for them. Oh yes.
In addition to the killing, a man should treat himself to a nice wristwatch on his sixtieth. I did.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Friday, June 13, 2008
And So It Begins
Got up today with guppies and hooks on my brain. It was one of those mornings where the rays of the sun wake you up. Best way to wake up, in my humble. Weather was perfect for some fishing, not too hot and not windy at all. Just nice out, if you understand me.
Where I live, we're surrounded by water. Canal on one side, great blue on the other, so there really ain't much to do here but fish, so I'm glad I enjoy it. So as soon as I'd cleaned myself up, I went out to my favorite spot on the docks, the place I usually fish off of. Didn't get as much catch as I'd have like, but it was still a good time. Just feeling the line stiffen, feeling that tug of a living creature on the end of your pole, pulling with all it's might, trying and failing to get away... That's what makes fishing so fulfilling. Libs might call it a power trip. Hell, what I call it is nature.
The first one I caught was real small, and those give you a hell of a time trying to get them off the hook. Little sucker wouldn't stop moving! By the time I ripped the hook out of his jaw and threw him back, a young guy sat on the dock next to me. Think I recognized him from the neighborhood, or from somewhere else. Maybe he just had one of those faces.
We sit in silence for a while. I compliment his rod (heh don't get funny), tell him that I saw that rod in the store, that the thing was a beaut but cost a bit too much of my pocket liner if you understand me. We didn't talk much. I asked him if he'd ever seen me before, because I knew I'd seen him from somewhere. Just not sure. I'm by the docks a lot, because I don't have the money to buy me a boat, so maybe I saw him from there, is what I was thinking. Thing is, though, I think it that was where I knew him from, it would have clicked. But no, not there.
A long time passed and he didn't catch anything. He was using shitty bait, so maybe that was it... But my line pulled a couple of times before we spoke again. First one was another mini, but the second looked to be a keeper. It was a good sized butterfish, not really something I'd like to eat, but I did feel good about catching it. When I got it up on the dock, the young guy congratulated me, but I was busy dealing with my new friend. I took out my blade, a lockback commemorative piece I got a ways back, and split the fish's lip so I could slide the hook out easily.
That's when the young man got a bit more interested in what I was doing. He asked me why I cut him open like that, why I "mangled his mouth" (gotta love the language they come up with) and then threw him back. Kid seemed to that the fish felt pain, that he was going to keep swimming around crying over his cut up jaw. In any other situation, I would have got annoyed, would have packed up my shit and told the kid to go screw himself, that I'd fish how I wanted to fish and he could fish how he wanted to fish... but as he rambled on, it clicked. I recognized him. He knew them, too. He was one of their friends. Least I thought he was. But all that mattered was that I knew where I knew this young guy from.
So I took my knife, the tip of it wet from the fish's mouth, and cut the kid's throat open. The blood splattered onto the dock, onto my hands, and continued to come out of him when I pushed him into the water. It looked like black smoke coming from where I'd cut him. So red it was almost black.
I dipped my hands into the water, cleaned the blood off and then put them to my face, smelling the fresh salt water. Some people don't like that smell. I do.
Figured today was as good as any day to start this blog. I'm not as Internet savvy as most everyone who makes these things, but I know my way around. I know enough that this is going to get labeled as a hoax as often as people believe it's true. It happens. I've seen the lonelygirl18s, seen the suicide blog, seen the popcorn cellphone video. You not believing is what allows me to write about what I've done. I just hope they don't see, because I want them to be surprised when they found out... I want them to find out in a very, very different way what I've done.
My name is Garret Garvey. At least to you it is.
Where I live, we're surrounded by water. Canal on one side, great blue on the other, so there really ain't much to do here but fish, so I'm glad I enjoy it. So as soon as I'd cleaned myself up, I went out to my favorite spot on the docks, the place I usually fish off of. Didn't get as much catch as I'd have like, but it was still a good time. Just feeling the line stiffen, feeling that tug of a living creature on the end of your pole, pulling with all it's might, trying and failing to get away... That's what makes fishing so fulfilling. Libs might call it a power trip. Hell, what I call it is nature.
The first one I caught was real small, and those give you a hell of a time trying to get them off the hook. Little sucker wouldn't stop moving! By the time I ripped the hook out of his jaw and threw him back, a young guy sat on the dock next to me. Think I recognized him from the neighborhood, or from somewhere else. Maybe he just had one of those faces.
We sit in silence for a while. I compliment his rod (heh don't get funny), tell him that I saw that rod in the store, that the thing was a beaut but cost a bit too much of my pocket liner if you understand me. We didn't talk much. I asked him if he'd ever seen me before, because I knew I'd seen him from somewhere. Just not sure. I'm by the docks a lot, because I don't have the money to buy me a boat, so maybe I saw him from there, is what I was thinking. Thing is, though, I think it that was where I knew him from, it would have clicked. But no, not there.
A long time passed and he didn't catch anything. He was using shitty bait, so maybe that was it... But my line pulled a couple of times before we spoke again. First one was another mini, but the second looked to be a keeper. It was a good sized butterfish, not really something I'd like to eat, but I did feel good about catching it. When I got it up on the dock, the young guy congratulated me, but I was busy dealing with my new friend. I took out my blade, a lockback commemorative piece I got a ways back, and split the fish's lip so I could slide the hook out easily.
That's when the young man got a bit more interested in what I was doing. He asked me why I cut him open like that, why I "mangled his mouth" (gotta love the language they come up with) and then threw him back. Kid seemed to that the fish felt pain, that he was going to keep swimming around crying over his cut up jaw. In any other situation, I would have got annoyed, would have packed up my shit and told the kid to go screw himself, that I'd fish how I wanted to fish and he could fish how he wanted to fish... but as he rambled on, it clicked. I recognized him. He knew them, too. He was one of their friends. Least I thought he was. But all that mattered was that I knew where I knew this young guy from.
So I took my knife, the tip of it wet from the fish's mouth, and cut the kid's throat open. The blood splattered onto the dock, onto my hands, and continued to come out of him when I pushed him into the water. It looked like black smoke coming from where I'd cut him. So red it was almost black.
I dipped my hands into the water, cleaned the blood off and then put them to my face, smelling the fresh salt water. Some people don't like that smell. I do.
Figured today was as good as any day to start this blog. I'm not as Internet savvy as most everyone who makes these things, but I know my way around. I know enough that this is going to get labeled as a hoax as often as people believe it's true. It happens. I've seen the lonelygirl18s, seen the suicide blog, seen the popcorn cellphone video. You not believing is what allows me to write about what I've done. I just hope they don't see, because I want them to be surprised when they found out... I want them to find out in a very, very different way what I've done.
My name is Garret Garvey. At least to you it is.
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