Thankless, all of them.

Things have been monumentally fucked up. I do not feel like going into detail, as it would take far too much time and energy. But we did manage to injure a vein while cutting, which put a shock into us. I took care of it...as I always do, as no one else would like to step forward. Sometimes I would simply love to disappear and watch them flail helplessly when I do not arrive to save them. Fuck this ungrateful bullshit.

And it begins.

The sister called us, from her place of employment. She decided, on a whim, to call police in our behalf in regards to our perpetrators. She had read quite a bit of my journal, and told them much of it: about us, about the rituals...everything.

Now we wait: they say they will call us, to question us. Like fucking criminals. Why she had to do this, I will never know. The Host will never agree to press charges. I cannot say I blame her. They do not know where we live...why lead them to us?

She misunderstands.

We were speaking with the sister just the other night...yesterday, perhaps. I really was not paying attention. Bruyère was discussing aspects of our past to the sister, who is trying to understand. Granted, the sister had issues as well growing up, but she had an altogether different experience. Part of her doubts that it "was really that bad", I know; she will not say it, she dares not, but I can see it in her.

Bruyère spoke briefly about Zillah--no details, of course, as she is still coming to understand--and suddenly the sister screamed, "Well yeah, I guess you really did have all that shit, because if you didn't then that stupid bitch--" meaning Zillah "--wouldn't be here." Bruyère tried to explain about Zillah having been conditioned, and her age. The sister would have none of it. She retorted, "Well you had it easy, you had all these others to deal with it and share the load. I have just me."

It took all of my being to restrain myself from screaming right back at her. It was never fucking easy, never once. I despised those years, every waking moment was a struggle and to be true, it still is much of the time. There is always some goddamn crisis, always a new memory, or a suddenly re-emerged one, or sightings of those fucking Rahkas, damn it all, I have never fucking had it easy. It was a rude and inappropriate comment with no forethought. She must learn that she cannot merely say whatever she pleases and not face consequences. The question is: how does one make that point known to her? I am angry but not unreasonable.

The dangers of construction.

There have been several accidents at work as of late. Monday, a man fell from a seventh story scaffold...luckily, he fell only twenty feet, but was still very badly injured and was airlifted to the hospital. Today, carpenters were removing a form, which is like a mold for concrete walls. The forms are monstrously enormous, and it takes great focus and effort for everyone to do their parts. A foreman signaled too early and the crane began to lift it, while a man was still attached. He fell off, which sent the form into a spin, hitting several men and causing a landslide of debris.

Dangers such as these are part of the life of a construction worker. But as an electrician, I must also be mindful of electrocution hazards. Two electricians were killed in less than a year by arc-flash burns...it is sobering to ponder.

On Zillah.

There resides within me great anger and malice. A hatred I know is wrong, and a flippant disregard for anything save my own feelings on the matter. Apparently, Zillah has returned. She is one of ours who has been active in cycles: she will be present for a few months, and then fade into obscurity for just as long, if not longer.

Zillah endured much abuse, even though they knew her age. She is rather young. And yet, they did this in such a way that she has no idea it was abuse. She believes she was chosen. She waits for their return, unknowing the brutal nature of their true beings. She believes I despise them out of jealousy...even now, it is difficult to write, as my rage has been all-encompassing.

We saw the scalpels, and the suturing supplies. Believe me, the thought crossed my mind more than once. However, it would do no good...Zillah would misinterpret it completely. I cannot punish Zillah. I cannot blame her. She was conditioned to react this way to those experiences. I know this. However, I want to scream at her, I want to impress it into her mind that they did not love her, they hurt her, they hurt us goddamn it, no matter what lies spewed forth from their mouths, it was still abuse.

And how concise they were! How adept at committing such atrocities, and how very keen their sense of understanding the mind of a child.

This is unbelievably frustrating.

The ever-disposible history of Vegas.

The Desert Inn's St. Andrews tower is to be imploded this weekend, to make way for Le Rêve's second tower, with ground-breaking in August.

A part of that illicits within me a sense of melancholy. Something that took years to build, and with so much history, gone. Desert Inn opened in 1950, one of the oldest Strip casinos still standing. Howard Hughes lived in the top level, and when they tried to evict him, he bought the entire property until his disappearance in the 1970's. (As you can likely tell, we have been researching this.)

Desert Inn's Augusta tower was imploded in late October 2001. I remember the outrage by some tourists, because of a building's implosion so recent after the September eleventh attacks of that year. The ground-breaking ceremony for Le Rêve was held nearly a year later: Hallowe'en night, 2002, and Le Rêve will open April 2005.

I think of the other pieces of history Las Vegas has lost: the El Rancho, in October 2000, in order to build Turnberry Place; the old Aladdin, in 1998 to make way for the "new" Aladdin (though they spared the concert hall); the Sands, in 1996, where The Venetian now stands; the Hacienda, in 1996, on the site of Mandalay Bay; the Landmark, in 1995, replaced by a parking lot (a parking lot!); and the Dunes, in 1993, creating space now occupied by Bellagio.

One can walk the Strip and see new marvels, something bigger and better all the time. Tourists will not return to someplace as "glamorous" as Las Vegas is it all remains the same. And yet, this city has only a disposable history. Although I know that all these implosions will keep us employed for years to come, I wonder what feelings I will have when Le Rêve is finally demolished.

Calm.

The fiancé’s twenty-fifth birthday…we spent it at Makino, which is the only Japanese restaurant to which Bruyère and I agree. I have the sushi, and she prefers the shrimp and beef dishes…anything cooked, really. It was a nice time, though the fiancé was as exhausted as we were. He does try for us, and we know that. At any rate, we know at very least he enjoyed the new chrome rims we bought for the 1966 Volkswagen he is restoring.

Frustration.

I suppose this is less a vent and more a session in which to complain.
There have been issues Inside and the problems Outside have compounded everything into a veritable clusterfuck, if I may be so bold.

Firstly, I wrote some time ago in regards to the atrocious parking issues at Le Rêve. For my six o'clock shift, I must leave nearly two hours early. An hour to secure a good place in line to obtain a parking space on the property, and another hour in the line waiting to enter the premises. It is insane. Hundreds of workers are turned away daily as there is no longer any room for them to park. Mind you, hundreds of others park in an illegal manner: under equipment, blocking entrances, and double parking on ramps and on the rooftops.

Not only that, but the second tower of the Desert Inn is to be imploded this weekend. How that will affect parking, I have no clue. I can only imagine it to get worse. In fact, they are starting a swing shift, and all crews will soon work seven days weekly, twelve hours a day.

Additionally, the ground-breaking ceremony for Le Rêve's second tower (to be built on the ruins of the old Desert Inn) will be in August...more crews, more men. I doubt the parking will improve.

The need to cause harm to the body is now overwhelming. I see it becoming a distinct issue. I am dead without the release: dead to joy and yet alive to the sizzling negativity which always seems to convert itself into rage. I am doing better at speaking of the true evils that haunt me though I still am unable to speak of certain things. To complicate matters, I was accused recently of harming the small ones. Someone told me quite matter-of-factly that no protector would dare harm himself or the body, and in doing so, I willfully harm the small ones irreparably.

I have said time and time again that I was never meant to be the sole protector. I did not have the strength for that. It was Piirek's duty, and in his sudden absence I had no choice. One must do as one must, whether one likes to or not. Furthermore, such things have a way of working out...not always in an ideal sense, but in that the alternative would be less savory. The choice was given to me: I take Piers' duties, or I step away. I chose to accept them. Had I not, we may be in far better shape...or, far worse. I still believe I made the correct decision.

One who cares for small ones, or works with them, is not inherently evil if one also self-harms. I make certain that whenever an injury is willfully caused that it is cleaned and cared for, and that the small ones do not witness the act. They know of course, most of them. But it is not flaunted about or impressed into their minds that it is something desirable or "good". It angers me that someone could make snap-judgments about me, and be so incredibly inconsiderate about it, as well.

On a positive note, I have discovered the joys of peach-mango juice.

Such is life.

We worked a Saturday, today, finishing the underground work for the Koi pond to be situated outside the Japanese restaurant. The rebar was criss-crossed so high, it was a veritable three-foot deep rat’s nest, and every step had to be calculated. The smallest misstep meant bruised shins, or lacerations from the tie-wire. In fact, several on our crew were bleeding from it by the end of the shift, and I heard that another journeyman caught fire from using the propane torch on the PVC…though the fire was promptly put out, as we had an extinguisher on hand. And the water….it was old, and nearly warm, so it rather tasted like drinking bathwater from a sock. I was glad I had packed an extra bottle of Gatorade.

Even with all that, however, I am glad to have worked. Saturdays are paid double, and we were kicked off the jobsite after seven hours, but clocked in for eight. Seven hours with those atrocious conditions, and yet paid for sixteen…I cannot really complain. Not only that, but the crews were so very small: twenty ironworkers or so, ten carpenters, and five electricians, so parking was not the nightmare it usually is.

One other note: In being rushed out of the area so quickly, we lost our Kliens—sidecutting pliers—somewhere in the mess of rebar. And now, I daresay, they shall be a permanent addition to the koi pond, once the concrete is poured, and we shall be out an extra thirty dollars to replace them.

A vision of madness.

First, some background for those unaware: Right now we work as an electrician at Le Rêve, a mega-resort in Las Vegas opening in April 2005. It is being built on the Wynn Resorts property, which used to be the Desert Inn. (Note: The last standing building of what was the Desert Inn is being imploded next week, to make room for Le Rêve's second tower.)

I digress.

The old Desert Inn's parking garage is still standing, and there is a smaller garage next to it that has a capacity for nearly one thousand construction workers. Because of the crowding, and new workers arrive daily, many of us park in the adjacent parking lots: Treasure Island, the Fashion Show Mall, the Frontier. It has never been a problem, until today.

Apparently, these properties want payment by Wynn so that we may continue to park there. The powers-that-be, as it were, refused. Therefore, security was in force this morning, turning us all away. It took twenty minutes for me to enter the jobsite, and another twenty to find parking. Mind you, I parked illegally: I double parked facing the wrong direction, on the roof no less. Though I was not the only one. Others were forced to park under construction equipment. As I walked to our lock-up, I saw men literally ripping a fence apart to gain access to another area of the site in order to park their vehicles. All in all, I was an hour late to work, and there were others who arrived much later than that.

This must improve. It is beyond reason to leave our home at four-thirty in the morning just to arrive on time by six o'clock. Several journeymen say they give it a few days for Wynn to strike a deal with these other properties and, if not, they are walking off the job. I tend to see their point: It is frustrating to work a ten-hour shift and spend an additional two hours each day dealing with parking before and after the shift.

On religion, and tolerance.

One of the newer journeymen on our crew is a devout Christian. I take no issue with that, as I consider myself a Christian, as well. That being said:

We are allowed to advertise most anything on our apparel or hardhat, including religion, sexual orientation, or narcotics, for instance. (Though, if there is a complaint then it must be removed by the end of the work day.) This new journeyman does just that. He wears Christian-themed shirts and has etched "Jesus saves" into his hardhat, along with its Spanish equivalent.

I take no issue with that, either. If a man can wear a shirt that says "Making love: What your girlfriend does while you fuck her", then certainly this journeyman's profession of faith cannot be any worse. The way he goes about the rest of it, however, is what I find irritating.

Twice this week alone he has put his hand on the shoulder and asked if we knew the love only Jesus can give. He also makes a habit of slipping Biblical pamphlets into lunchboxes when no one is nearby, and drops "Trust Jesus" cards throughout the hallways at our jobsite.

I have no problems with faith, at all. One of our journeymen is Muslim and we go into incredible discussions on the topic. I like discussing religion if the topic is not so forcibly thrust upon us.

I am unsure as to what to do about this. I have tried to stand by and ignore it, and I have even tried to rationalize the behavior. However, it is becoming an issue, because now it has come to the point that every time we see him, I want to allow one of our non-Christian ones out. Not to debate, really, but just to annoy him as he annoys me. I know that is completely the wrong mindset. And yet, I scarcely think this is an issue that should include the foreman.

Saved: an alteration.

There was a small family-related incident a few days prior, and of course it led to a rather drastic wound in a very obvious place. To leave it be was unspeakable; this week we are working closely with the foremen to revise blueprints for the recent addendae. In order to save the situation, as it were, I had to think creatively.

I am not going to fully describe what I did, as I believe that there would be no point in it. However, I altered the wound in such a way that it no longer appeared to be self-inflicted. In a small way, I really quite surprised, as it also does not appear as if it was altered. I was surprised and greatly relieved that no one took issue with it at the jobsite. It was much easier to feign normalcy without the constant questions. And at that, I realized I have become quite adept at the art of deception. Not to all, no; some know me better than I can possibly fake it. But to several, I am able to craft a wall of stoicism. I am able to pretend to them, and they never know my inner struggles or my dark side. I prefer it that way. I cannot count the times I have admitted something and have instantly regretted saying anything. I am certain also that I am not alone in that.

Today was a good day.

What with the past injury and illnesses we have suffered in the previous month or so, I found it exhilarating to be working at roughing in today. Rough-in is a part of an electrician's job I really do enjoy. It involves running conduit and cable through framing, pulling wire, identifying circuits and terminating fixtures. It is hard work, indeed; not quite so demanding as digging trenches and the like but enough to feel it by the end of the first hour.

I like to work with my hands. I enjoy creating, really, and as an electrician there is definitely a sense of power in that. With my skills and knowledge, I can aid in such basic creation. Nearly everything requires electricity now, and it goes so far beyond light fixtures and televisions. What of fiber optics, security systems, fire alarm stations? These are specialties for an electrician, and ones I am learning.

It may sound silly to some. However, by the end of the day our crew stood at the ready, waiting for send-off by our foreman. Our muscles ached, we were all drenched in sweat, and quite a few of us were bleeding from the minor lacerations that accompany such work. We put in a damn fine shift, building this mega-resort. Sometimes I wonder at the fact that hundreds of thousands of tourists and locals alike will pass through the main doors, and not give a second glance to the one-of-a-kind escalating stairway (the only one of its size in the world), or the million dollar chandeliers. They will not ponder at how the dance floor of the nightclub moves for them, or how the keycard for their hotel room is programmed in sync with the security codes, or how the heat-trace underneath the restaurants signals an abnormality that can be remedied before a problem is even noticed by the staff. And yet, if I wanted to work merely for recognition, I would have chosen the wrong trade. I find satisfaction in my work by my own hand. I know I do a good job, and that is enough.

More fatalities.

A few weeks ago, the Bellagio had a second major black-out. The media was not releasing the reason except that it was not due to the first.

The reason, very briefly, was that an electrician and a switchgear specialist were inspecting live switchgear. A ground-conductor had come loose, and fell across all three phases of the panel, causing an explosion and arc-flash. The switchgear specialist died only a day later. The electrician died last week, both from the severity of their burns, inside and out.

It is disturbing: Two journeymen from our local died from severe burns associated with arc-flash accidents in less than a year. Both were needless, preventable accidents. The dead-front should have never been removed, and safety precautions should have been met (such as
incorporating rubber shielding).

It is the third period apprentices--those beginning their second year—who begin working on live circuits. There are classes outside of the jobsite to help, but on-site training is just as necessary. We have just graduated to that category. I sincerely hope that our journeyman is qualified enough to not lead us into something irreversibly dangerous. It is time I stay mindful of the potential hazards at the jobsite, as Le Rêve will be incorporating permanent power in just a few weeks.

Stereotypes.

I watched two films yesterday, both older: "Fatal Attraction" and "The Abyss". (I daresay I thought "The Abyss" was a much stronger film.) One thing that struck me in both films were scenes depicting the "psychotic, dangerous" character as being symptomatic in self-harm. Please forgive me, as I do not recall either character's name...In "Fatal Attraction", Glenn Close's character was holding a butcher's knife aloft toward Michael Douglas' character's wife. Glenn Close's character became agitated and began nervously stroking the blade of the knife toward her thigh. It scarcely showed what she was doing, except that the knife was blood-stained and the fabric at the thigh was torn.

In "The Abyss", one of the characters goes decided insane for several reasons. I believe he was played by Michael Biehn, though I am not certain. There is a scene wherein all the crew has gathered for a meeting. Michael Biehn's character has an expression of concentration, or perhaps a mask over his rage. The camera moves to under his table, where he is tightly gripping one of the legs of the table as he slowly and deliberately making gashes into his forearm.

In both of these scenes, it is apparent that the only reason it was written into the script is to prove the depth of the character's psychosis. It made me wonder if, perhaps, this is not partly the reason society sees that self-harmers are not just dangerous to themselves, but to others. We are fortunate that the parents have really researched on self-harm and know that we would not dare harm another in the way we harm ourself.

Granted these films are older, ten years old at least, if not more. Perhaps Hollywood has decided against such stereotypes for now. I just think it odd that suicidal characters in films are met with compassion or empathy, and characters who self-harm are met with fear.

Pondering despite this.

I caught myself thinking in unsavory things last evening. I am really uncertain as to how I even found myself on the subject, but instead of turning it to something positive I used it as an excuse to cut. I had been feeling the urge hiding against me all day, for seemingly no reason. Nothing had triggered it to begin with, and while I know this is not uncommon, I still wondered at it.

I did not cause any permanent damage: scarring, of course, will be the end result but there was nothing further. It was deeper than I would have liked, and more blood than I am used to presently. Furthermore, I feel responsible for a friend's cutting, as well; I was speaking with her online when the urge overcame me, and she knew what I was doing because the length of time it took for me to reply to her, and because my grammar slips significantly when I am concentrating on injuring the self. I feel I should have lied, now. At any rate, she said I gave her a heart attack (figuratively) and then cut, as well, though I did not immediately know that then. I know that I am not directly responsible for her actions, but indirectly I believe I definitely aided.

I do not want that to occur again. I know I cannot stop the cutting immediately, and although I claim to want to, I am not certain it is the truth. In order to keep friends from harming themselves due to my carelessness, however, I am looking for ways to stay distracted.

Update: Head trauma.

Really, one should know for obvious reasons that there is no such thing as "light-duty" at a construction site. So, we are still off of work until Friday, when we have another doctor's appointment. I am hoping the restrictions will be lifted at that time.

On a slightly similar note, I was told that we are eligible for disability payment, since more than five consecutive days were missed. I really know nothing of that matter, and I resisted asking questions. I know that we will be paid 66-2/3% of our average monthly wage. I am hoping (without much expectation) that our average wages include all the overtime worked these past few weeks. Also, I wonder if we are paid only up until today, when I returned to work, and was refused. Would we be required to miss an additional five consecutive days to be further eligible? I was told the check would be mailed today, and I suppose I will have to wait.

I must say that the rest of the morning, prior to speaking with our worker's compensation case manager, was horrendous. We sat for nearly two hours in a small room, being interrogated by three men about the details of the work accident. I requested that our jobsite steward and safety coordinator be present, and that was granted. However, it was still rather stressful to Bruyère, who was positive that they were questioning the validity of our statement. It turns out that they only investigated so thoroughly because of the nature of the accident, and the fact that our initial verbal statement raised more questions than it answered. (This was mostly due to the fact that it was conducted less than twenty-four hours after the injury occurred. Bruyère could scarcely recall her name and address, let alone the English skills required to adequately explain the details of a jobsite injury over the telephone.)

In between the interrogation by the investigators for the general contractor and the interview with the claims case manager, there was approximately half an hour we were left alone in the orientation trailer.

I recognized the urge immediately. It had been a few weeks, at least, since I last relinquished myself to it. I hesitate to describe it...there is a certain amount of intimacy involved in times when one is under duress. I do know, however, that I shall rethink storing extra utility blades in our knapsack, and perhaps I could leave them with the foreman. I know better than to do something so foolish. I had very little time to clean the area afterward, and dispose of the evidence. At very least, there is a therapy session today. I do not much care for therapy, but at very least it may calm some of the others.