I no longer know what the goal of the site is, I write horror fiction, and love letters to myself.
This site is a tool to facilitate the act of seeing clearly, written by hands that used to hurt myself.
Explanation: I am Damien, I speak to my split personality Amanda. I am two people in love with each other, and I am okay with that now.
I have paranoid schizophrenia, narcissistic personality disorder, bipolar II-manic/depressive- rapid cycling, depression, anxiety, hydrocepholus, narcissistic personality disorder suffering from alcoholism, drug addiction, alcoholic. with OCD and PTSD- was addicted to heroin, meth, crack, alcohol, cocaine, prescription pills.
I am drug addict/alcoholic/dual diagnosis/ex-homeless person.
Through dark horror fiction I rake the muck of the lives of street addicts.
Or in plain English this is an epic poem/novel about addiction told about low bottom addicts in horror style.
Tag: experimental fiction
I met her near a bridge, she was going to work, she spotted me underneath the bridge, picking up the rest of my stuff, so no one would know I had camped there for the night. If I was careful, sometimes I could use the same spot twice. This was particularly important in Oregon, because it was not as understanding as California, and shop owner’s or random passersby could help police decide to banish the unhoused travelers.
Do you still think what you thought about her?
Yes. I still find it very strange that her name was Bridgette and we met her underneath a bridge.
Look, I know that is peculiar, but what you thought was insane.
I don’t think it is that insane that people were following us and giving quickly devised names, it is a perfectly logical explanation that you see in old movies all the time.
I guess that makes sense.
She stole your money, and I’ll give it back, little do you know, this is all an act. We tricked you, baby, but you don’t know. I wanted your attention and your friend did know. Now you are sitting thinking she left you here, she is buying something of which you won’t here. I covered for her, because without her, I would never have met you, and after today won’t see you again, and this I bet you, so right now, I will tell you anything you want to hear, and yes have anything you want, I have it here.
I don’t know when she will be back, she did not tell me, and yes she will be back of this I assure, I implore you please relax, your insanity and anxiety is such a tax, I love your voice honey, and love your face, I have something that I am sure will make your pain slow pace.
Okay, she is back no go away, and if you are ever in need you know where I stay.
I found this painting of this woman outside a random house awhile ago. It was a throw away piece stained and damaged by water or something, but I liked it. It almost looked intentional the staining looking like it had been an effect that was deliberately done to the painting, like it was always supposed to look like that. It almost looked as though it was a painting that was painted to look like it had been found in a wrecked ship, that had been uncovered and the art had been salvaged.
I hung it in my friends house, where I was staying at the time, the place was a glorified squat house that we used as a venue to throw shows and to drink and hang out with other individuals who had nowhere better to be. It was frequently party to a bunch of people who had never made it in life, but were good enough at writing poetry, songs, or painting or drawing that they could draw a crowd of maybe at max fifty people. We would have gatherings where we would keep the sound to enough of a minimum as to not attract enough attention to bother the neighbors.
It was at one of these gatherings that I found the strange coin, it was extremely odd… it looked almost as if the same woman from the painting was on the coin. It was so odd that I showed it to a bunch of the guests and they had never seen it before. We looked the coin up on the internet which made me extremely paranoid, because I am odd like that…. and came up wieth nothing, my friends even looked it up on a bunch of the image match software search things, and nothing.
The search never went anywhere, and we forgot about it, after that night…. or they did… it always bothered me.. especially after the gathering because the coin dissappeared.. almost like it was never there to begin with.. and shortly after the coin dissappeared.. the strangest thing started to happen to the painting… the mouth and only the mouth began to fade, rapidly, as if it were aging hundreds over years in a couple days.
After spending the night in jail for public disturbance charges, a man gives me a ride to Galveston Texas. I have no idea before getting there what the story is behind this town, only that I vaguely remember hearing a Glen Cambell song about it back when I was still riding around in the back of my mother’s mini van.
He asks me what I am doing in Houston on the way there. I tell him I am trying to get out of Houston, he laughs and says he understands why. I tell him he doesn’t know the half of it, and he laughs, saying he does too, and that he used to be a security gaurd somewhere around here. He asks me if I am carrying anything he needs to know about in the car. I don’t.
We drive and right now I don’t remember how long it took, because I probably passed out from exhaustion while this story was occuring.
The next thing I remember occurs months later, because I was not driving my body, Amanda was.
The person I am with at the time, whom I am no longer with…. and I are walking on the highway… she is screaming at me about something.. in this memory I am not sure what she is screaming about… I know now she is angry because I was extremely drunk and got arrested and she had to comen get me out of jail again.
We are walking to get out of Galveston, and to go somewhere called Crystal Beach, which sounds…. nice… for idiotic reasons.
More on this later.
I know, I am having issues, I think it is just what my brain does.
Having a hard time being alone?
I am too.
Is that why you are talking to yourself on a dark screen?
Isn’t that what you are doing?
Then why am I an ***hole?
Because I hate it when you are right
You hate being right? I love being right.
That is why I am friends with myself.
I did a brief inquiry into the history of this house, and found nothing. So I don’t think the ghost has to do with the house, and what is strange is the same thing happened when I came back downstairs, so I am done as of now, talking about anything negative on this site. I will do my best to make this site a positive place, going forward, as I think this is something that is directed at me specifically and wants to me to be angry and miserable. I am no longer going to be serving whatever it is.
That is all for now, in this post anyway.
Peace and love
“Hope is the thing with feathers“,
speaking of her bird, named Hope, poor choice telling me this.
I have been thinking of killing that parrot ever since she told me it’s name, not because of what she said about it, but because the **** thing listens to me talk to myself. I hate that damn bird, it needed exactly what happened to it. It still looks exactly the same as it did before, except for one crucial detail, now hope is dead and stuffed, wonder how long it will take her to figure out she now has a stuffed parrot. Probably as long as it is going to take for me to figure out how to get the **** out of her before she kills me, which is not going to happen, she is not a good fighter.
Oh, look, a window, that was simple enough, looks like your hope is just like me, out the window, or yours is behind it.
My perspective is dead itself, or the idea that I have the ability to even have perspective is dead. It died for me when I was eight years old, when I realized I do not live in reality.
Block of Wood
You happened a long time ago, and every day, because you are a metaphor for mental decay.
I am staring at a block of wood, I do not know how I came to be staring at a block of wood, I do not have any knowledge of how long I have been standing here, I do not know what time I started staring at the block of wood, or where it is placed in the universe, or if I am even in the universe at all right now. I am simply staring at a block of wood in the dark, and can’t tell what time it is. It is that rare time of day or night when it is indistinguishable whether it is in fact day or night. I am not sure, I have no perspective anymore. I long ago gave that up because I am constant propelled into a reality that I am not sure of the reality of, so I relate to nothing, which means I have no perspective. This is beginning to change, but goes right back when this happens, and I have to fight my way out of the dark cavern that is the Hell of my mind.
I do not know why I was staring at the block of wood. I just know that I swear, I swear on everything in me, that I began to see the atoms if I focused enough, that made up the wood itself. I know I am insane, that this is all just hallucination, and indication that I am doing something right, because my mind does this to me whenever I make any sort of progress, sends me forwards, backwards, longways, short ways, and to a position of staring at a block of wood and wondering if I can communicate with my cat better orally or through telepathy.
Time makes me scream, it makes me dream of things that don’t make sense or cents, that is not true liar, you have made plenty of money in time.
Yeah, but I spent it all on dimes.. I traded it in for dimes at the cash machine.
I congratulate me on a day where I was only an ***hole last night, and complimented random individuals in the food store aggressively.
They seemed confused.
I can still talk to you though we exist not in the same dimension, all the time at least, I visit you because I see you, you see me and you speak and I hear you because I listen. I listen to everything, to the mutterings of the under spoken word, to the shouting to mad dark night, to the words callously yelled into chaotic dark night, because they used to consume me, but they don’t anymore, because I realized I can cast them out on here.
I travel back and forth to Misery through my mind, and through others, who I see, stuck there, and they speak to me from there. I can see it in them speaking to me, speaking through them now, this came to me last night after a dream, I have been having strange dreams.
I am thinking that ghosts sometimes just want to be heard and are not used to being heard so say thing that they have always wanted to say very quickly and it is up to me to decode them because the universe is showing me them and them me for a reason, positive being the key over negative.
I am finally coming to a place in my head, where I realize that I am not going to continue the very toxic behavior I have continued my whole life, the bounce back and forth between love and hate the universe, my fault their fault thing. I am accountable for my actions yes, but I am finally coming to a place where I can say, if you don’t like me get away from me, very freely, and without negativity or resentment. I am doing what it is best for me, my feelings are all very real, I am just insane so I am prone to astral projecting the future.
Okay now that I got that out of the way.
I think I am going to start trying to figuring out what to do with the rest of my life. I am not sure what that even means, I like the writing again, I used to do this as a child, but fell off the face of the earth when it comes to doing anything productive for 15 years. I am trying to get my life to a place where I can take care of my own needs without having to commit crimes to eat and pay for a place to live, like I said before all very real, this is all actually happening, this is where both me and Amanda are, I am just where she wants to be people wise. I am how she sees herself later with who she sees herself later with.
Murder, murder, suicide, she’s your bride and you must die
To misery you have subscribed
I am your slave driver, I am your maker, I am your constant facilitator, I am your wife, I am your life breaker
I have your daughter, she is mine, with me you brought her
Into this world, so she could be enslaved by me your bride, your key to hell and to things referred specifically, without specification but with divine like sensation.
I am your desire for numbing beating drum of DEATH
Idea of life left
To control of other people, you need me as your steeple, I am your source of needle and thread to craft quilt that will make sure your head
Is rested and feet never tested, Damien come back, I am all you lack, you need me
I am the rack on which you keep all your pain, so you can sleep restfully so
You deserve more than you know, you reaper of hoe, you keeper of marrow, I am your sparrow, I am your bird, I will sing for you in Hell’s word.
I mean that wholeheartedly, talking to myself helps me, and I am hoping maybe it will help someone else to see my displayed vanity insanity typed over and over, and it is better to talk to myself on here then cry myself to sleep, or get drunk or high because I am scared. Okay, not going to erase that, it felt very good to write that.
I have a very hard time admitting weakness,
Can I help you with something?
This says to my brain
You are paying attention to me
Stop looking at me **** it.
I am doing fine, if you only knew what my life was like you would look this ****** too, so stop reminding me of how pathetic I am by implying I need anything from you.
You have noticed something I am doing that illustrates that there would be any reason I need help.
I do everything to the best of my ability at the time, which is very poorly because I am a drug addict and an alcoholic who sucks at everything except engaging in fits of rage or joy on the internet, and I say that lightly because displays of affection towards myself are disgusting. 😉
You are telling me something I am doing is inadequate which makes me mad immediately because why are you looking for inadequacy in someone you don’t know
You think I need anyone other than myself.
This makes me feel uncomfortable because I don’t want to want or need people, because then they can hurt me.
I am terrified of wanting or needing anyone.
I would rather be rejected immediately
Kindness of strangers annoys me, because I am just going to say the wrong thing and cause discomfort for everyone.
I think I may have a severe problem, other than my recent decreasing sanity, which I may add has been noticed by my family. I don’t really know what I am going to do because it is a two fold…..well three if you count Rei.. thing. My daughter has been reading this, because… I knew that…. and for some reason I thought it was still okay to be on here writing any of this, she came to me this morning and asked me to do something for her. There is this guy who has been bothering her, some jerk she met somehow. I didn’t care to get into the details. She didn’t seem to want to disclose much about the nature of their relationship. She sat with me for a little bit, and talked to me about how she needs someone to get him to leave her alone and that she thinks he would listen to me.
I didn’t bother to ask why. I know why. I just don’t know what to do.
I think I might have to do something about it and not tell Rei.
I am going to think about it now that I am thinking clearer and I will be back on her to document whatever it is happened and what I decided to do about it. I think I might need to put the fear of Hell in him.
I was SAVED SAVED SAVED
From life of SLAVE SLAVE
Enough of that, hahaha. Sorry, that is fun. I like to make fun of myself. I thought I was so free, loving no one, having only myself, well all two of me. I was my own best friend,
whoever you want me to be baby
Just a Roger Rabbit-esque fetish eyes version of what I was. It was not pretty, it was not fun, but a grew a light inside me from being perpetually spun.
This light is the light that saved my life, and I owe it to perpetual strive through self infliction through addiction. I am a hero who quit their job because they realized putting in on the end of hero, kills people who need hugs, love, sympathy and help. They are suffering from a disease which has dissing ease in its name. I learned that through 15 years of personal pain inflicted by me and my split self. I would cycle through
It’s your fault
No it’s yours
Till there was no place to bring the memories, and I almost went completely insane. I forgot my name, and ended up in a psych ward. I almost killed myself, but now like a flower in a garden fertilized by corpses of my friends who weren’t so lucky, I crying out, crying for them, hope to save others, even if it is just one shunned addict. Please know we love you and there is hope and peace in what I speak of.
I am the ever loaded never fired always aimed constant shaming upright standing IN YOUR FACE LIFE REPLACED WITH DEAD THEFTING KICK OF IN YOUR NECK
I am life theft.
I stole Pittsburgh once. His name was Alan last name Pittsburgh, though it was funny because he bought gasoline from me
DEISEL BABY FIRE UP YOUR ENGINE DARK OIL
Funny because GAS makes you go, and all Alan living in a A-LAN-D of Pittsburgh
SCREAMED was NO!
Gee… Thought gas made you go!
Guess I was wrong, GONG GONG GONE gone
What is that sound, is that death’s pound?
Or is that
GET ON THE ******* GROUND!!! PUT YOUR FACE ON THE PAVEMENT!
I am truth captured in word
DO YOU THINK LOOKING AT bird
WILL SAVE YOUR LIFE????
I take out my knife, and cut a tiny mark under his eye.
I am the tears
**** you’re gonna DIE!!!
He cries out in pain, sounding like a cat, and I am taken back. I am standing back falling over vomiting. I am throwing up demon soul, addiction hole addict soul. I take his cash and leave. He stays on his knees.
I just want to see my daughter once last time, I just want to see her once last time, can you do me that solid? Please I will give you anything you want? Is it money you want, take my wallet. Please just let me see her one more time.
I take the cash and run.
I am misery’s gun.
I am no fun.
I am ADDICT SHUN addiction
Enter the end of every night
Take me out baby.
Bear with me. I am trying to decode all this eerie memory myself. I am telling you this in the most clear way I can. It will be choppy like my memories, because I was intoxicated for most of it. I also don’t feel good right now, physically I mean. I was at the hospital all day.
I am standing holding a sign on a street near a 7-11, and there is a man who knows me, he says we have spoken before, and I feel the same way. I see in his face, I know him and I don’t know how or why. He tells me that he needs to tell me something, and that he cannot tell me this thing in public, so we go and people follow us, I don’t know who they are, and I am sober, I am lucid, I am paying attention. I can tell they are following me. I can see them out of the corner of my eyes, they are actually following me. I see them, but I pretend I don’t.
He tells me they follow him too. He tells me they always follow him.
I ask him why. He says he doesn’t know, he says he need my help. I follow him. We walk around and he tells me about these people, that follow him. He says he doesn’t know who they are or why they follow him.
I am standing in a different spot in a different place. It is a grocery store, it is 3 am. I am looking down at a pack of spare ribs, I don’t know why. I do not have anyway to cook them, a man comes up to me and asks me if he can follow me for awhile. I say yes. We go drinking. We are outside, we walk up to a house, with an open gate that looks abandoned tonight. The lights are off. The windows are bare, and there is no one inside. I am remembering earlier, the house… so full of life… a swing set in the backyard… a pool filled with water, and children swimming… the pool is empty… no water… the walls are bare. I can see this because all the windows are open and there is…
I am running… different time… different place… there is a blue splendid looking light in the sky… in the shape of a jelly fish.. I am high and tired, and think it is about that… I am with my friend who has since gone insane and we are on the beach and we realize there is this same blue light on the ground we run our hands through it, and spread it all over laughing and joyous talking of the beauty of the universe.
I am another place another time, I am sitting on the sidewalk talking to someone with memories that are fractured, telling me that he is a jigsaw puzzle…
I saw the n after that, jerk.
Yes I did. I had a really good night last night. Thank you for wondering. That was kind of you.
I can see you too.
Am I supposed to be scared?
No, I just wanted you to know I learned to like you.
That’s good because only lunatics talk to monsters in their closets, people can talk to spirit guides.
So I am allowed…
I fucking found Rei, or she found me. Or, what really happened was. I don’t know. I don’t know…
I woke up in this motel bed, sleeping next to Rei and she is alive, and my daughter is still in the next room alive.
There are two living people in this motel room, three including me.
Rei is in my bed, not fucking dead, and my daughter is on the couch.
I am going to shoot myself, not really. This is the most amazing thing I have ever had happen to me in my whole life. I love this new weird typing lunatic.
Well, right now that is me or is it her or is it me?
I keep looking at my family and they are still here, and I can feel if I concentrate…
My universe being typed onto my existence. I think I am going to… lay down.
Diane’s daughter, continuity is hard for me. I do not know who’s, whose I mean, daughter she is really.. mine? Diane’s? Rei’s? I don’t really think she can be mine, because I don’t remember… never mind.
So anyway, spelling and my insanity aside, I think the girl might be my daughter, so I am trying to help her. I don’t know which woman she comes from. I think it might be Diane. If it’s Rei I have to hang myself, because I don’t think I could handle anyone coming from Rei being my responsibility.
I am pathetic, I know.
But, yes I know you can’t start a sentence that way, look what I made! If there is anyone reading this.
I don’t think I am the best person who could have been chosen to protect a child, but I am dangerous enough I guess. No one will bother her on my watch.
Poor child. I am literally the worst babysitting choice the universe could have made, but I guess not because it made it. It kind of makes me feel better about myself.
I will make sure no one hurts her, and we will get to the bottom of who she is running from. Maybe, we will both learn something in the process.
I have started calling my daughter, Joy, seems like a good enough name.
Whoever it is, that has been writing my existence. I feel like maybe if I am alright with it, and do not anger it, maybe it will like me more, and my life won’t suck as much as it has.
Enough of that, it makes me uncomfortable to think about. I don’t like feeling small, or insignificant. I would like to think I am not some creature whose script is being written out by some cruel god or some all knowing being, sometimes I wonder if the thing writing my script is really, just like me and is actually just to cowardly to admit that they are in every way me in some small way or another. I do not really know what to think about the whole thing. I am still bouncing around with what the whole clarity thing even means in a real sense.
On an off topic note, Diane’s daughter is insanely cool. She has the same kind of thoughts that both me and Diane had, and is prone to the same questioning of everything that is real, but.. oh wait… I forgot…. I wanted to mention that I am just calling her Diane’s daughter till I figure things out, I know nothing for sure, she might not even be real.
I am feeling less lonely now. I am really starting to think I might be okay, someday, no matter what happens.
I am deviant creature, I pretend to be a great teacher, I speak through the addict as preacher, I am of infernal design because I am not kind and write of the peril of men and women like me, because I am the blind one I cannot see that who I am undoing is me. I am going insane, merely documenting my brain, and its moral decay.
I live in a world with fake creatures, yet pretend to be a learner and teacher, while pretending to reflect, sit back and reject that the person I hate gets clearer and clearer with every look in the mirrored reflects of me seen in my work. I am a developer of murk. I am also an arrogant jerk, who is obsessed with themselves and creating this hell that I pretend to use to make points even though I still am conjoined
In my heart and my soul with resentment. I am not that far from those of who I speak, I have the same soul and cannot teach anything to anyone because I stopped just because it was no longer fun.
Damien to whoever is writing my story.
Ps. I can only speak in letters, sorry.
I have recently come to find out that Rei did not overdose, she did not kill herself, I did not kill her. She was murdered by Diane. Diane’s company has something to do with it. I do not understand what yet. I am not sure what the God is writing my story revelation has to do with any of this or if it is just madness. I am not sure about any of this. I have come to a place in my head where I am just taking things as they come and trying to find out more about this girl who says she is my daughter, why she looks so much like Diane, and if she is Diane and my daughter, which would make no sense, because it just did not happen that way. It feels good to finally know that something truly fucked up is going on and reality is breaking or something, because now I know I am not broken.
I thought it was me. I was convinced I was responsible for all this, and now I know I am not, well not all of it anyway, just my part in it, which is okay enough to me. It feels way better than thinking I am responsible for everything that happens in the whole universe….
I found her.
in a house that wears clothes that are an indication of no good.. that is the first thing that came to mind when I sat down here. I am sorry give me, oh right…. you can’t see me.
I found a pair of clothing and a golden necklace in the warehouse I have been staying in. I am not sure who put them there, and from what I remember I was there all morning, and Diane is missing. I do not think she is the owner of the necklace, and I insist with viole…everything in my being, that this is not being typed on here as a way to process some kind of guilt about having killed Diane, I do not kill any woman I love. I did not kill Rei. She overdosed, and while I may have through my own foolish insistence to keep using not done anything to stop her, I couldn’t have stopped her from doing that shot because I wasn’t there, any dreams or feelings that I had that, made me think anything other than that, are complete horse shit.
I am telling you this is different. I know this is different. I can feel it. I know this is different, that there is some reason this is different. I have this eerie feeling, that I am supposed to do something to figure this out, that somehow, something about me drew me to Diane and it has something to do with this.
I was just going to write something that is untrue, I have to keep reminding myself that I did not in fact kill Rei. At times, I could swear that I remember every detail of what I did to her, and at times I forget she is dead at all, but I cannot seem to remember anything that fits with the story that I am being spoon fed by Diane. I am not sure why, but something about it doesn’t sit well with me. It doesn’t seem real, maybe it is just that I am coming close to being happy, actually happy. I am not good at that, but I wouldn’t know because I don’t really have much memory of anything, never really have. I just have flashes of things I think may have happened. I am truly the blindest man I know.
Anyway, I do not know if…. let’s say just as a matter of investigation, if I killed her, why do I not remember it? I think I usually remember that kind of thing specifically. I know I wanted to kill her… I just don’t know. Something about it is strange.
Keep you posted.
I know I didn’t kill her, but didn’t I? Wasn’t it me who was the goading force behind our illicit glass blowing and sowing? Whether I killed her with knife in hand, or with entry in to a land of sharp objects and cold air…
Does it really matter? Isn’t it the same thing?
I am still wondering what the whole thing means, and it bothers me how much the whole thing looks like a set-up.. Misery… Ms. Re. Re minus the i and the why.. and the y.. I hate scitzophrenia. Spelling, Damien, spelling…
I have been watching him on here, I met him outside my house, he was standing outside talking to himself about not knowing what was going on, I have my ways of calming men like him down. I invited him inside, and he sat on my couch with me, and started crying and laughing at the same time. He was manically speaking like he had been awake for days about about six hundred things at once, I think he was unable at that point to differentiate between regular speech and talking, either that or he didn’t care. It was probably that he didn’t care, the whole thing made me think of a man melting onto the floor, as if someone had poured acid on him.
He is storing this computer and actually himself, in my living room, because I like him, and I am lonely. I don’t think he would remember to come back here if I let him outside. I will be writing with him on this site in place of his ex-girlfriend now. He seems like the kind of man, who can’t handle being alone despite a tendency to kill his lovers.
I don’t think. I don’t know. I can’t tell. I can’t remember who I was before even, or even really understand what that means, the words don’t make sense to me. I am changing from second to second, so fast I think that I am not a consistent person at all. I think I am going to go back to stopping doing drugs. I mean… I think I am going to stop doing certain ones. I can’t handle this manic thing. I don’t know why I wanted to be alone. I can’t handle this. I don’t remember anything but I do. I remember everything that happened but as if it was told to me. It seems like a script of a movie, that I am upset about my role in. I feel like I am having a hissy fit. I did something awful. I am awful in general and I am having a hissy fit because I can’t seem to wash the blood off my hands.
I am going outside. My finger is healed. I don’t know how long it has been since I cut the tip off. It looks normal now except it doesn’t have the tip on it. I am going outside.
I am sorry I keep writing on here, whoever you are, but when I am on here, it feels like I am talking to someone instead of just pacing around this room feeling like I want to rip my skin off. I am really afraid. I hate to admit that, but I don’t like how this feels, and I have nothing to ground me anymore. I am not talking to… I can’t remember her name right now. I don’t think I killed her. I would remember if I killed her. I just forgot about her. I just don’t care anymore. I don’t care about any of this, and I feel like I am a ball in a pin ball machine. My head hurts. I am tired, but I can’t sleep because I am really high, and I don’t know why I keep smoking this stupid shit. I want to go to sleep, but I don’t want to wake up and not know what I did while I was sleeping.
I wish I had a friend. I wish I hadn’t killed my friends. I wish I was a different person.
I found this interesting new spot. I was walking late at night and had glasses on because I have astigmatism. I do not think I mentioned that, I only mention it now because I think that is what caused me to notice the coin. It was a very strange coin, that I had never seen before. I think a street light must have caught it just right to reflect onto my glasses in a way which was disconcerting for a second, and I almost walked into a taxi. The guy was a real asshole about it. I threw something out of my pocket at his car, fuck that is where my phone went. No matter, I will just get another one anyway.
I still have the coin somewhere, the back of the coin appears to be removed, but I am not sure how, and for the life of me I cannot figure out where the coin is from. I do not wish to share details about the exact nature of the coin on this website. I don’t trust whoever is reading this, and something about the coin is making me paranoid. I will share more about this later, maybe. I am doing this mostly for myself anyway, so I have no idea why I am trying to be polite to you.
Her name comes in two parts, and so does my heart.
It has been weeks since we got here. We are in the desert somewhere. I am am working for this woman who lives in a city. We have been staying at these random motels, they don’t notice us because the owners of the motels don’t notice anyone. They don’t pay attention to anyone I mean. I am kind of seeing Dianne behind Rei’s back. I have also told her I will fucking kill her if she interferes with me and Dianne. I want to see what it is like to love someone else, I think I might be able to love Dianne. She is so much like me.
There is something about Dianne that fascinates me. She talks and I am enthralled because I do not want to protect or devour her. I just want to listen, in a way that I have never wanted to listen to Rei. I feel like Rei is the childish love I should have had, when I was 16. I am 36. I deserve….. I deserve the electric chair.
Who am I kidding. I deserve nothing. I am a piece of shit, but there is something that makes me feel better about being around Dianne. I think it is because she is a piece of shit too. I like that about her. I can hear death in her voice. It is strongly fascinating. I can hear death in her voice and it is not my own, or hers, I wonder what the fuck is wrong with this maddening woman.
I was in an abandoned building with Rei, we were sitting talking, and I am not sure if the people who came in after us heard us. They were speaking a different language that I couldn’t quite make out because my ears were ringing, and I hadn’t been paying much attention to anything that was being said by anyone because I was more focused on something that was being handed to me, and I hate myself for that, which I am going to start charging myself a dollar for saying.
I got this strange feeling, like I had been there before, exactly there and that we had done it wrong, and both of us had been burned alive, which is strange because I feel like I remember Rei saying the same thing. We are quiet for a second and they seem to notice a change in the level of presenting sound in the room, stopping and looking for us. I get this strange idea, that I can focus on not being there, and I focus on it and they don’t notice us. To me at the time, I just think I am having an episode, and that for all I know I might already be burning alive.
I wake up with Rei somewhere else, vomiting. I hate how much time I spent vomiting. It’s disgusting. I am disgusting. I put this picture in with this post because this vaguely illustrates what I saw. I made it using some insane fucking program, sorry for my language. I am frustrated…. and yes… I see words in the sky sometimes…
There are many ways to take a human life, there is the very official way, my favorite of killing a person face to face, which offers the most reward because they get to know you did it. I am an idiot and like this, because I like them to know I stole the only thing that mattered from them, and there is nothing they can do about it. I set it up this way, because I am admittedly a coward, and do not want them to steal my life, so I protect myself, by ensuring this won’t happen. I was born with a taste for death that has been with me… since I can remember and struggled with self-hatred my whole life because of it.
I would be looking at someone and watching their every movement, and thinking about how I would kill them if I wanted to. I would plan out every second of it, this is why I have no friends.. other than the ridiculous Rei, who I do not understand at all. She makes no sense. She seems to be two people, one of them like me and the other, kind and gentle. I don’t get it. I don’t have the strength of mind to have two souls. I like both versions of her. She tells me I am the first person who does. I do not know if I believe her. Maybe, she never showed anyone both versions of her. I do not know, and I do not ask.
I am also very uncomfortable knowing much about her former life, because the other men who populated it make me angry. I am going to leave you with that, as I am no longer alone and have to go.
She was a drinker of glasses of Chardonnay and also partial to Rei, so we invited her to come over and play. Now at her apartment she will permanently stay, not because she’s there, but because her leg is bare of skin.
I cut it a little too thin I guess, she had such a pretty dress, I must confess, that though she cried… I could not hide….
WE NEED TO GO!! STOP STARING AT THE BODY!!!
Oh, sweetheart, your poor heart…
In lime I combine the sight of divine,
Is it lime or different shade of green
What do I mean?
What color dissolves skin,
In chemicals that make thin
The layers that hide red blood or blue
For this dove that, as she lays in my bed, is her blood still colored red?
Or is it blue, because there she lay, though start not to decay.
In my mind, oh sweet love, sent from Rei of light from above
Who sent me upon thee to consume legs in such glee.