Diary of Marc Evan Aupiais

Truth and Pain

2012-04-09T03:22:00.000-07:00

Grey... it fades. Nothing, but fading still. He grasps, his mouth, tries to open, and close in the suffocating air.

Weak, he almost weeps, but his eyes, and all else burns. He pretends to the throne of life, tries, and tries, and fails and tries, he seeks into his mind, in hope of some anchor, but there are barriers. What is his name... his name... what is his name... is he a “his”, or is he a “her”? He doesn’t know. Pain, like a tingling fire, is all about him. Slowly, it tickles, but a painful tickle. Jean D’ark Joan of Arc, he recognises a name, but it is not his name. Does he believe in a God? He doesn’t know... but he knows he should know... at least that.

Above him is a ceiling, but he doesn’t call it that. His language is broken. It’s not the proper word he somewhat uses. He tries to write, but it is garbled, all the letters are wrong.

Grey shadows, cover the room. It is a room, he believes, but they are moving too fast, as though time were not as it should appear. He feels dizzy, and his chest, seems to implode. He cannot breathe, his vision is going, his ears throb, and he speaks too loud, but cannot hear it. Suddenly, everything is too loud, every noise, the highest he can endure. He is deaf. Bright light, it does... surround. And now he seems blind. The light, covered by a halo, makes everything a yellowy white. Death that is a light.

His bones scream, and feel broken, as with his ligaments. His body, starts to spasm, his dead legs and arms, lacking blood, are vacuums, sucking in form, his muscles expanding, without his consent. Pain, follows the streams, of warm red water, into his unordered balloon-like wind-struck flag form. Anger mists, boiling, gurgles through his veins, as he attempts to fight. Orange red anger turns upon him, his heart hurts, he aims to cure it, and the great pain in his head, maybe with a knife... but there is no knife. Black mist covered his burnt dry veins, his arteries, are polluted, with thick oil thick blood.

His intelligence, his thought, his language, his past, even moments past, are distant, as though being pushed from his mind. He is below the water, drowning, as indeterminable, imaginary man eating sharks, his memories, cast shadows, indeterminable, overhead. He cannot think, nor show his thought upon the paper that is the burning shroud of life. His right hand covers his acidic burning mouth, as his left hand, feels his heart, his drowning in suffocating air... lamely pretending at life... lungs containing... air to treasure: chest. He has keeled over, a v shaped creature, a stone figure, petrified, angelically flapping its disordered wings: tipped by feet and head.

He would love to hurt some other part, to focus, elsewhere, the pain.

He wants to throw himself out of the window, to fly from the pain. He cannot. He cannot move.

And the exhaustion, which caused this sudden paralysis, that had made him drop, from his feat, a deflated balloon... it binds him, more strongly than a thousand ton rope, around his silently unvocal neck. He cannot move, and all he senses is pain. All he wants. His only desire is blackness, nothingness... Void.

It is here, where he would say, later, should he have the memory, that he is closest to God, in every single sense. With nothing, but pain, the last thing God, on his deathbed, was made for him, to be, to sense.

Resurrection in another sense, this similarity showed, the hope brought by pain.

He fell asleep, knowing Tomorrow he would wake again, and soon again, sometimes, innocently perhaps, unexpectant, he would again experience, this same pain. That which most unites a man to the Divine!

No scars, physically, to entertain, just the humbling truth, which sinfulness, made God teach him to endure, truth, and pain.

My concern for valid reasons

2012-03-14T03:09:00.001-07:00

Concerns by Marc Evan Aupiais

Having worked with these two individuals on a group project, in which one gave a false email, neither turned up to arranged group meetings, and both were extremely rude, and when I went out of my way, and was to compile a speech for the group: decided to inform someone not giving the speech of their project many hours before me, and not to inform me that one was writing for both, even when I requested it. And when I attempted to approach them, knowing that the project was soon due, and to discuss it, the saw me and avoided me. The sort of behaviour they followed, in a group where I was elected leader, makes me believe neither are befitting of the title lawyer, and I don't think they should be employed by an employer with discretion, due to their lack of work ethic, and professionalism.

Luckson Masiyiwa luckymasiyiwa@gmail.com 476158(this email address registered as false, despite my double checking it with the individual, and making him and all group members confirm their addresses after copying them onto my lap top)
Tafadzwa Mbwachena fengambwa@yahoo.com 477504

Due to the utter hatred of hard work, these two individuals had, we were unable to meet even once as a group, and it was only because of extra-ordinary effort on my part, that I was able to track them down to submit their essays, which they did much later than any other members (2 days), and only one claiming to represent both.

I also have some concern about Karabo Mvubu who was our tutor employed by Witswatersrand University, to whom we gave the presentation, who told us to base our speech on a part of our course pack where the answers he gave us after presentation, were not present, who paid no mind to speech giving ability, and himself speaks too softly for a small lecture venue to adequately hear him. He also wondered about while students were giving speeches, going about his own business separate from marking, which is certainly off-putting, and not to be permitted, of someone who is paid for a job.

I do have evidence to further my claims, should you be interviewing any of these three individuals, who so deeply concern me.

I sit here

2011-12-12T23:44:00.000-08:00

Diary

I sit here, the latest Mail and Guardian on my right. I hate the paper. Liberal Garbage. Complete Taurus Copra. But I read it anyway. I always have.

But its the things that don't make the news that worry me most. The things I know by other means. Things that won't make the Mail and Guardian! That won't make the Saturday Star or Pretoria News.

The things I know from my profession. My contacts. My sources.

These things worry me. They worry me about the state of things. Things one does not report on. Because it would be unwise to.

I worry! And I pray! What else can one do in life!

Rain

2011-12-09T02:26:00.000-08:00

Heavy precipitation. Rain. Softly massaging. And where blocked, pounding the earth.

The skies are a light metallic grey. Quicksilver, running into the depths of the skies.

There is light. Visible light! Background light. Aquatic almost. Hardly defining livid colours. All is visible, like a teddy bear in a toy shop. Not lit up. Not bright. There. Vaguely.

I lie here in feverish weather. Boiling yet cold. On my bedspread. Below a small azure (blue) blanket.

Such is the soft storm, keeping men, women, and energy inside, as it bashes against the shingles of the roof tiles. Drooping unto the ground. Gradually. Feeble enervation upon the extensive lassitude of the gruelling frazzled and fatigued ground below!

Home John and don't spare the horses

2011-12-07T11:16:00.000-08:00

Diary

At 5 AM tomorrow morning I'm leaving for home, then off to Mpumalanga to do wildlife safari in Kruger Park.

Sea, Sun bathing

2011-12-05T04:33:00.000-08:00

Diary

One beach, in a small exotic cove! Went in sea, bathed in sea, sun! Haven't bathed in ocean in my own country in almost ten years maybe! Is amazing! It took a lot of courage! Had a mortal fear of our oceans once.

Jogged today for the first time

2011-12-04T22:22:00.000-08:00

Diary

Always would slow run! I am very tall, and thus never jogged. Today I jogged for twenty minutes around small town Margate.

Feet go just in front. Like running on the spot. Fast.

Its easier to go at pace jogging than larger steps running. Walking up hills takes more energy. Jogging up is easier. Walking down hills takes more energy. Jogging down is easier.

IS FUN!

Lols! Not Margate in England

2011-12-04T01:36:00.000-08:00

Diary

So, I got details for British church! Missed mass! Good maybe Lol!

The bathrooms

2011-12-04T01:02:00.000-08:00

Diary

One has mildew on the tap/faucet. The wind blows the door open and shut with such force. I walked barefoot into it to relieve my bladder this morning. Burning. Tingling. I was quick to wash my feet, standing on a supplied towel, and put antiseptic on my soles.

The other bathroom. Sea view, by the bath. I sat in this tub. The hot and cold knobs for the tap/faucet are at different heights. Neither are marked. The cold is so rusted it barely twists. I waited a while for water to shoot out. My own Dove soap in the bath with me. It Grunted. I heard water sift and saunter. Then, slowly, dancing, it rattled and gurgled like a cat throwing up. Water emerged. A very hot bath.

The humidity and lack of pressure exhaust me as I acclimatise.

Heat, wind, water. Winds that blow you back and forth. Fatigue of oceanic hot, humid air. Cooler than home. Lack of lack of pressure in the air disorientating one.

Sitting on this bed. Emotionally swept over by the surrounds. Fatigues within and without. Relaxing finally after a tough on the senses experience of a year.

Lassitude takes me, in my feeble weariness. Its fine though! This is holiday! I'm right by the moaning groaning sea. Literally accross the road to the rocks and sea. This sea which enervates one's core, with soft breaking waves! Attenuation is what you pay for. To devitalize. Washed out exhaustion after stress!

What would I do?

2011-12-04T00:31:00.000-08:00

Diary

Thinking what I would do. Its odd! I keep coming back to: I mustn't be a victim of circumstances... What would Marc Evan Aupiais do? I would go to mass! Not a victim of emotions! Strong! Centred! Afraid of nothing! Afraid of no one!

I have faced must worse than an irreverent mass by an incompetent monkey of a priest who thinks mass is about people not God.

I have faced worse than many people. And I have never backed away! I am digging into that infinite strength! Deep in my stomach and wondering at it! It may be best to miss mass, still! But I will not feel like Yesterday! I will not let myself start to fall... Slide willfully into faltering near depression.

Whatever I do! I will be strong! Active in my own life, not a rebounding echo of emotions and people!

Missing mass?

2011-12-04T00:15:00.000-08:00

Diary

Still on edge of depression. I hate the church in Margate! Is like a bar! And not at all reverent. No excused.

Still... I'm scared the Depression will return.

Listening to stupid depressing songs. And another thing hit me Yesterday. Will take a lot of emotional energy to go to that God forsaking Margate parish.

Mortal sin to miss mass. If no mortal reason not to go.

But I think maybe I have a mortal reason. Just got to hold onto me right now! Is all!

Flux

2011-12-03T09:58:00.000-08:00

Diary

Flux. Roil! Reel. Turn. Wash away, surge. Twirl. Whirl!

My emotions are a maelstrom: seeking the lives of ship hands. A deadly iceberg out in the darkest cold depths. They are a leopard seal: hunting penguins. A killer whale, after sealines.

A polar bear: hunting innocent seals at sea; and more!

They break over me! Firstly I stand strong! Strong! Strong!

And then I collapse! Fall! Fatigued, in this devil's gamble. Endurance gone!

Not depression! Not yet!

I focus on my integrity! For a moment- breached! Spilling the blood of my soul! I calm myself! I must tolerate and ride out, stand firm against the deadly attack!

Winds

2011-12-03T08:02:00.000-08:00

Diary

Since I arrived here in Margate: the winds have been shocking! Literally threw me against wall. Amazing. Sea swells!

To be or not to be- worthwhile as an individual human being

2011-12-03T07:01:00.000-08:00

Diary

I'm still reading Tan Lines. Summer's mom is divorcing her dad.

Two phrases she uses for herself strike one. One may be accidental. Katherine Alice Applegate does that sometimes. Accidental repititions or phrases, which create reader fatigue.

Here, Summer's mother says she is just "putzing around". From Yiddish: Putz: penis: a stupid, worthless person in English terminology. Putzing is inconsequential, unproductive behaviour. Her mother then calls herself a broad: a derogatory term for a woman.

She is divorcing her husband over fights involving perhaps her kids. As a result: even as she is divorcing. She feels worthless.

I know in Animorphs also, Katherine Applegate deals with impact of divorce. Summer here in Tan Lines: looks at her engagement ring, which the worthless individual trying to pick her up and steal her from Seth, equates to promises, often not kept: but meant.

Summer thinks of the same mother.

Diana's depression in Beach Blondes and suicidal tendencies also come partly from her mother's divorce.

The less girly one- whom I love

2011-12-02T22:06:00.000-08:00

Diary

So, someone recently heard Sara Beriles and thought it was Justin Bieber. I was insulted and said she'd be if the friend ever asked for her autograph.

Anyway. I don't blame them. Like, when I look at a pic of Selena and the literal bastard. You look at the more feminine one hoping and expecting a great feeling. You then look at the less feminine one: Selena, and and and then feel the good feeling, after uttering "curses" that boy is feminine. Like a cartoon comic character.

:) Lol!

Lotsa emotions!

2011-12-01T11:37:00.000-08:00

Diary

I've figured out part of why the Summer/Ocean City/ Making Waves (different names US/UK... Same series) Katherine Alice Applegate books are so hard to read sometimes for me. And so therapeutic.

Besides all I said before, and the sudden ending of my suicidal depression. Of course.

Emotions. Emotions have always embarrassed me. Any emotions.

Anything not utterly tuff and manly.

My first crush I'd call: Chanél: "Woman" or more like "womb-maaaan". Just to show her charming smile never affected me. It did.

So, reading emotional things! It is very therapeutic. I feel release. I only hope my manliness remains. Girly men are not to be respected by me!

But Katherine, is an author I know well! I have read over 50 of her books! She keeps enough excitement to not make me crumble. Not that I didn't love watching Bridget Jones's Diary and the sequel 5 times, maybe more, each! Still, I have my manliness! But with a soft, yet manly heterosexually certain: girly side, which loves romance: dinners and all: especially if I'm cooking!

Emotions, like joy, hope, confounded affection: are good for me! Tuffness in hand, I must soften myself sometimes :) ;) ! Mwaa to the ladies ! Times infinity + one thousand suns:)! ;)!

4 hours later

2011-12-01T00:41:00.000-08:00

Diary

So, after losing it for a while! After amnesia returning! After that: I decided I was to try something before reading.

I focussed on my inner strength! On a feeling of being in control! I being who I have in this dark deep swirling turmoil of roil in a aquatic world.

As I focussed- on powerlessness! On my feeling. My helplessness. Underwater in a dark labyrinth, running out of air. Unable to go up or down. Sharp protrusions above and below.

Waters swirling moodily in my broken arteries and veins.

I focus on what made me powerless. I focus on courage within! The courage that once was my bedrock! My memories, in every moment of courage: return. That recklessness I proudly held! The calm, centres, tectonic power of my brave courageous self.

I focussed on calm waters. Black surface, untouched! I sank! I was asleep! Four hours in my unnaturally dark bedroom.

And as I slept, I sank into memories! I must hold my old self! Centred on brave courageous acts of kindness unto God! That is where, when: my memories are!

What's in a name: in mine: everything

2011-11-30T21:01:00.000-08:00

Diary

Odd! And I know I am posting often, somehow its liberating.

With my memory and with it my anchorage! Inner strength gone! I have turned to my name as strength! For years now! My name has been my anchor! But now I realise, only a name!

I need to start reading! If I do: my memories will come back! I know it!

Any small scent of sadness

2011-11-30T20:50:00.000-08:00

Diary

Any small set of sadness. Yes! I said set! Sets me off! The mere scent!

I retreat with my memories. Depression hits like a wave breaking over my entire being. Breaking me and within me.

Without my memories I lose my anchor and my core!

I'm reading again to regain them fully!

Sad song

2011-11-30T20:47:00.000-08:00

Diary

I woke up this morning just as happy, strong, firmly... Okay! Memories all in tact.

Mother started to play a beautiful but sad song on the piano. Everything started fading. I phoned her (you can't hear a person shout in this house) and told her to stop. She obliged!

I hope my memories will be crystal clear as I read!

That's it isn't it!

2011-11-30T14:57:00.000-08:00

Diary

My human rights were violated! South African law was violated! And they got away with it until now! No doubt hurting countless others. And all I did is erase my childhood. Already traumatic due to sickness etc.

I am no longer any sort of victim. I am me!

I don't think I'll ever attempt suicide

2011-11-30T14:53:00.000-08:00

Diary

Well. Not again. Not anymore. I'd lost count of my attempts! But now! My memory is back! And so is my inner strength!

Those events, especially those worst ones I have never written of, even them. Fully in High Definition + infinity.

I am me! Strong!

Its like when I started to stutter! A lecturer threw me into stuttering! I had to learn for a while to talk! I have suddenly learnt again to live. I should never have had to have faced what I did, I'm glad I have always had my family with me. But what a few now very rich, very powerful people, did to hurt me. Was wrong. I'm even considering finally acting on it. Years ago really! But unforgivable. Illegal! Evil! Utterly undeniably evil! Worse than any other trauma before or since!

Amnesia

2011-11-30T14:46:00.000-08:00

Diary

To think of all the times mother and I have discussed getting me therapy to get my memories back! And here! All wishing in! Strangely detail!

All because I'm reading a book! By the first author I ever read!

I'm Marc Evan Aupiais! And I finally know what that means to me!

I guess that's why I've been furiously writing! Trying to find myself!

I still want to be writing lots! But I've finally found myself! Who I was! Who I am! Who I want to be!

No need for therapy mom, or that trauma psychologist you'd planned to find for me. I'm fine again suddenly! And with my memories, its like my depression is gone!

I don't want to kill myself! I don't fantasize about dying! I don't spend time every day...

I'm me again! And I'm happy within! And standing up for me! My beliefs, my values, who I am! In within! In me! Yes, Catholic, Marc Evan Aupiais, same old me!

Except its different! Its like I was fighting and struggling to hold onto a shadow of me! Now I'm real me! The me I was holding the place of, while inside I was falling apart!

I know who I am again

2011-11-30T14:28:00.000-08:00

Diary

Every word! It brings me back! My childhood favourite author! Wow! And its funny because she describes like I describe. I truly did mimic her style of writing. And her way of writing! Her way of making a plot!

But I am me again, I know who I am again! All because of a book!

Memories rushing back! My memory blocks are fading

2011-11-30T13:25:00.000-08:00

Diary

The more I read K A Applegate! My childhood which I wiped out entirely is coming back! I am confident! Self respecting! Self assured! I am me again! Its amazing! My childhood is there! I can remember.

N. and I used to have that in common! We both wiped out our past! Always lived in the present and future. Probably why we worked.

Somehow I'm a different person again! I'm me!

And my memory blocks! So deep, are gone! I remember! Everything!