Eddy

Section 1, Part 1, #1
Masks
Above all things, beyond the image others see that I have laid upon myself, i am utterly insecure. It is very difficult to see exactly where my image derives from. I'm not entirely sure it stems directly from insecurity but perhaps that is insecurity talking. A lot of the things I do, mannerisms and details are acquired from my past. Nearly all parts of me are adopted from others. I am little more than a mental mosh-posh of people from my past and present. I believe this adoption comes from an insecurity that I have in who I am that seeks to replace the insecure parts of me with things I like about others. I find myself, at this point, completely lost in a meaningless void of an image. Can I find myself again and reintegrate back into myself? do I want to? Am I better off?

Section 1, Part 1, #2
This is a city of masks, impersonal charades and malcontent. It is my city. It is me. San Diego has no true self. It has no spirit. It was lost many years ago at the foundation of the public lie, the media, the slander, the image of perfection. It is little more than a shell now, a host for many fantastic things: things, places, and people all equally beautiful and interesting and all equally empty as San Diego itself. It is a city of masks behind which there are no faces. They have all vacated to congregate elsewhere.

Section 1, Part 1, #3
I was born May 3, 1990, the only child of my mother, second of my father.

Though not a true blooded sibling, my brother harbored no spite. Matthew was far too mature for that, having been in his early twenties when i was born. He in fact took right to me. There hung a picture in our living room of him holding me as a baby, quite clearly happy. For as long as can be remembered, Mathew was one of my favorites.

He took me to baseball and football games all the time. One of my favorite things to do with him was going to Balboa Park and visiting the various museums, the dinasaur museum in particular. These were some of the most fun times I had as a child. I saw Matt the least of all my family so I would often jump at the chance to do something with him.

Section 1, Part 1, #4
My father was a very quiet and stern man, a recluse out in the open. I learned from him a respect for silence. Conversations were never plentiful, yet in all his silence and stone, there was a heart. He cherished me as a young child, much as a child does a kitten. Ever prone to the mistake of spoiling me, he raised a greedy, materialistic son. Luckily for him, my mother was there, on the other end of the rope of my life, to teach e self awareness.

My mother was my teddy bear, so to speak. The comfort blanket of my soul. She never failed to make me feel better or to teach me what would forever make me a better person. Of my family, she is held on the highest pedestal. Much of me, or rather the best of me is owed to her.

Section 1, Part 1, #5
A game of terrible fun, of horrible joy, of maddening excitement. A game i will never in my life play again. A game known as Pirate Crew. Ironic that the most hellish of games would be played at a Christian daycare.

The point of the game was to be the last one standing, to prove who was the fastest, the most agile, and the most ruthless. At a single calling of a deck name, an entire group of 30 children run from one section of the room to another. A stampede called into play at the "captain's" will.

It is here that knees are scraped, heads knocked, friends pushed and shoved, arms broken. I was such a child. Tumbled over by a mountain of a girl, the snap of my arm was clear in the air. Quickly rushed off to the office to await my mother, then nothing, only darkness, then only a cast on my right arm.