he was the only one who could decipher hidden messages on tv.

there were microphones and cameras all over the house.

the blinds must remain shut.

his medication surely was poisoned.

he could not touch water except of course for when he smoked cigarettes because liquids, he figured neutralized the carbon monoxide in his body – you never know when somebody is planning to blow you up.

he could never stand in water because he might be electrocuted or something.

the noises in the basement were from the taliban. they hid in closets all over the house, and even lived in the attic.

weapons of mass-destruction were buried in the backyard and it was never to be spoken of out loud. the government knew and soon they’d be fored to send a suicide bomber.

his achilles tendon would be cut or sliced everytime he put his feet down from bed like that little kid did to the old man in pet semetary. they didn’t want him running anywhere.

it didn’t matter anyway because there were snipers all over the place.

terrorists lived across the street.

no one could be trusted.

all the doctors were in on it.

a red car meant danger. green meant safety. orange meant caution, and yellow, a little bit safer. blue meant the police were nearby. black, the secret police. white is the color of angels and meant he was going to die. silver or gold means his thoughts are in the right place and everything is fine. these colors represent reward, whice is why he took to carrying around a tiny gold toy car.

two birds flying by meant both opposing sides are equal. he could spend all day worrying over the amount of birds in the sky.

numbers were a great problem – of people, houses, cars…

the settling of the house too, how many times the faucet drips – 1 bad, 2 good, 3 bad, 4 good…

he is me

but i am not him


after it happened she walked from room to room in the big empty house and lied down sideways on the couch all day long and learned when all the tv shows were on at what time and even the ones after that too and she smoked a lottttt and grew very neurotic and shy and introverted and spoke very little no more than a hmm and haaaaah and when she would speak to others she apologized for being very boring and having nothing to say and this is why she avoided people altogether and she grew very insecure and looked forward to sleeping, it being her only escape into another world a great form of entertainment far greater than television. then she began smoking weed again and making an effort to look pretty and talk more and stopped taking lithium and lost some weight.

no i don’t drink very much

8 drinks later

i’m soused.

a dream…

i had eight golden retrievers. four of them were mini-size. it was so stressful trying to handle all of them. four went missing. i was pissed. then i ordered a mega hot tub and two hot black guys were in it jumping around. you were there. it was all rainbowy-coloured and had a built-in shower. then we got into a few car accidents. the dogs went away. i woke up and i was sweating. my dreams are stressful. then i went back to sleep and the dream continued. i was talking about the wu-tang clan with the black dudes. i said i’d name my dogs after the wu-tang clan but i couldn’t remember any of their names. the dream was more exciting than how i’m describing it here. pat from my old work was there. she was the one driving and crashing into things.

sometimes i wish for car accidents to happen to me when we’re on the road. that would be the most exciting thing, i think. and of course i’d come out completely unscathed and pretty looking.

i ate arby’s for the first time in my life today. i think it will be the last time in my life too.

email of the day:

Hun why u dot come over i love to meet u and give nice hot blowjobs u look o fucking hot.

“your website is kinda stupid, no offense. pretty boring too. i tried to read it and couldn’t handle it, maybe if you wrote something worthwhile…hey it’s constructive criticism, i like to read something that keeps my attention not just endless ramblings about how bitter you are…” < insert middle finger here >

in my father’s house there are many mansions

if this were not so, i would tell you

living in a world of Salvador faces

i hope you’re with someone

who makes you feel safe when you’re sleeping, tonite.

i go through all this

before you wake up

so i can feel happier

to be safe up here with you

they’ve just been waiting in a mountain

for the right moment

and then i was dead

i’m going to hit you on your face

i’m going to punch you in your glasses

it’s a message in blood

man i am having major bouts of insomnia. i’ve fucked up my sleeping pattern by staying up ’til 5 or 6am and sleeping til 5pm. probilly my medication is to blame. the anti-depressants are kicking in so i lay in bed with racing thoughts and then i tell myself to stop thinking and then that gay thing happens where you’re thinking of not thinking and then u go to yourself unnngh i’m thinking of NOT thinking whatinthefuck is wrong with me? so then i think why don’t i just pretend i’m dead and shut off my brain. then i thought, fuck man, what would it be like to be dead, do your thoughts just stop or something? do you lie there and your brain just goes. mmmmeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep like a straight line and u just like, lie around some more and stuff? kuz that would certainly suck. well maybe. to not exist anymore.

so now it’s like 5 in the morning and i’m still thinking of stupid scenarios of death and the like and i thought fuck this! so i went downstairs and took one of my brother’s nytol coma pills and took it with milk instead of with water like it said on the bottle (ever the rebel i am). it says it would kick in in about 20-30 minutes. great. more time to kill. so i read a bit, this book called pink slip by some wop chick, whatever, i already read it. and of course i’m worried that once the pill kicks in i may never ever wake up because what if i’m not suppose to take this little blue pill thing what with the medication i’m on. so i start to panic and worry more and the racing thoughts come bak again so i read some more and the little fucking pill is still not kicking in and i think fuck, if this is my last nite alive i should write some goodbye letters, but then what would i say, “hi i’m a retard and i think i’m going to die, i really appreciated our friendship and you’re really nice..tra la…you can have that pink shirt of mine you always liked. i love you. don’t be too sad. life is boring anyway.”

then i got this crazy idea to publish a whole book of fake suicide letters. wouldn’t that be cool? no. heart-wrenching and gay, i think.

so i finally fell asleep and dreamt i gave birth to a miniature little baby that was like see-thru and it started talking to me right away. it was a boy. i asked him what his name should be and he said mike and i said no way there are too many mikes in my family, in fact, too many mikes in the world already. and there was all this blood on my crotch, on the floor, everywhere. and all these people came in the room and started yelling and then the dream turned into something completely different and perverted. nevermind the rest.

so i’m still alive. yay. i dyed my hair black today. again. my roots were growing in. and i bought this fucking hot furry leathery russian winter hat thing yesterday, underwear, two shirts, and one of those eye things u wear to block out the light when u sleep. in the morning my room is so bright it’s like a fucking suntan booth. and there’s this fucking tree that scrapes against the wall of my house, right where my room is and it DRIVES ME COMPLETELY FUCKING INSANE LIDJ;nesao rhesfreskjfnARRRRGH!

i also dreamt i got some bitchin’ tattoos on my arms. maybe i’ll do that soon.