January 28, 2007
4 i submit. i give in. i surrender. i can't compete. |
15 i can't stand on unstable ground and i don't want to.
14 i, i, i, is all i talk about. what else have i got
20 but you? you're the only thing i truly care about and i
2 don't care about much and maybe i don't care about you
5 as much as i should, but when you say something is missing,
1 has always been missing, i wonder if you're talking
6 about something in me, some vital cog that was never
18 installed or was fitted and came loose somewhere along
1 the way or if you're talking about something inside yourself
9 or something with us. you think it's about you, but it
4 never really is. what if i were unimaginably successful?
20 would that change anything? probably not. your isolation is
15 your own doing, just as mine is mine, only i'm happy with
5 mine. out of that long, unending blank silence it comes to
24 soothe me, to fill me, to remind me that i was always really
16 alone and that the other feelings were temporary, an illusion,
12 and i best get used to it. you were, are. . . were the closest
15 illusion of them all, the fantasy i could live for awhile and
9 now you withdraw. why extend a hand at all if you'd rather
20 drown? is it just sheer instinct? obey your fucking instinct
25 then. whatever that may be. follow your intuition. i'll blame
15 you and maybe even hate you, but i'll never fault your for
21 chasing your own happiness.
18 we'll both be dead soon enough anyway.
7 misery might make me great.
9 but probably not.
6 but maybe.
20 but almost certainly not.
19 but then . . . it might.
November 04, 2006
sometimes i feel sick. i know you care. walking |
By that little old murdered lady's house, there
was a for sale sign. i had to stop and throw up
on thE side of the road. several cars passed as
i was vomiting. they didn't stop. would you have?
that'S what i thought. i've come to realize someThing
disturbing. . . i don't like myself. and i don't
lIke you, because if you met me you'd probabLy Like
me And that would make me waNt to kill you. i've
also come to realize that it's okay to kill. people
like killing. they wish they coulD do it. You do. it's
just not okay to get caught, because people punish
yOu for doing what they're afraid to do. not that
i've killed anyone . . . i mean, anything. i woUldn't
do that. that's What the comics are for. they make me
feel better. they stop the voIces for awhiLe. they stop
the headaches. they just don't stop the heartaches. the
souL aches. that piece is missing in me. i feel a void.
i feel something missing. i've tried to fill it with money,
sex, drugs, alcohol, masturBation, sElf-mutilation, music,
Religion, alcohol, moisturizErs, reading, Writing,
Arithmetic, alcohol, violence, gambling, online chats,
alcohol, speed, aRt, travel, aDrenaline, Education,
alcohol, crossDressing, trainspotting, skullduggery,
games, research, alcohol and spam. the only thing that
Works is sleep and It only works while i'm asleep. oh,
you've got it Too. you feel it. in that long list you
felt it, tHe vacuum, the void, the stark absence, the
desert, the eMptiness, the thing that shOuld be there,
godammit, but isn't, and if only you could fill it you'd
be okay. i'Ve found somEthing, but it's deManding and
i can't tell you what it is. trust me. you don't really
want to know. you wouldn't bElieve me anyway. it's much
simpler thaN i thought, but everything nasty and nice in
life is. thaT's all.
July 27, 2006
i haTe that iím dizzy. meds are too strong. again.
i Hate that no one reads these, well, no one excEpt for
ďherĒ and sheís just reading between the lines, lookinG
for the message in tHe message. do you have dreams?
do yOu ever meditate? what do you think of when youíre
trying to get to Sleep? do you think of violent things?
do you Think of abductionS and of the worst, most monstrous
things one person could do to another? no? whY not? see?
now i have tO hate yoU because until now i thought i was normal.
i hate Fearing that the crime has been solved. young
iím not sUre i like you. but iím sure you donít care
May 17, 2006
i'm so sick of having nothing, of being nothing more
than the flesh on my bones, than the glucosE in my brain,
than the undigested seventy two ounces of meat in my
upper colon. i'd like to be spiritual, like one of those
Guys on tv that wear nicer suits than god, the ones
that promise to pray for you if you'll kiNdly give them
the money you were saving up for A new car or some
deprived kid's college tuition. yes, spirituality is definitely
the way to go tHese days. fyi . . . god loves america,
britain, some parts of Canada and that's it. he hates
everyone else, especially anyone who has easy access to
Sand and oil and winnebagos. i'm just kidding about the winnebagos.
god drives a lexus though, in casE you were interested. he
told me So, so don't think i'm just making shit Up. i was
in an Accident, you see, in a Car whose name starts with
the letter v. my head hit the windshield and it left a
big v on my forehEad and up gurgling out of the tingly, ice
numby, sickly darkness came the voice of God, which souNded a
lot like an insurance salesman that tried to sell me
something or other and wouldn't take no for an Answer
and mysteriously disappeared some months later. and god
revealeth to me the secrets of Happiness . . . and that
is that the best ice cream is not cooked, like a custard,
and is made with unpasteurized milk. oh yeah, and god had
a major hard-on, too. i would've asked, but it seemed rude.
maybe next time. hate Count . . . 0.
that really pisses me off!
March 27, 2006
the Truth is . . . i don't know why i'm here. perhaps
to feel. is that it? to feel things? okay, to feel
things. for what? for why? what the hell difference does
it makE to anyone if i feel pain or joy or sorrow or
the flat, hard flavor of stale bread on my tongue? you've
heard that thing about eyes being windows to the soul. okay,
fine, what if it's not ouR soul that we see when we go
pupil diving? what if someone or something is just using us to
see, to feel? that would mean any expeRience we gave
them would be appreciated, wouldn't it? even a negative
one. it's like candy for the sense-deprIved. we all know
bad press makes better headlines than good press. so the
voice that maybe is talking to me in the loud, distant roar
of airplanes, in the hiss of air vents or the murmur of crowds
is probably someone wanting just a wee bit more, a junkie oF
sorts. maybe it knows where the little old lady buried her
bones, I sure as hell don't. i've pretty much reasoned out that
my headaches are like feedback, like when too many people
try to scrEam
and shout into the same microphone on karoke night.
i'm drinking amaretto at the moment. it's the only thing
that soothes me sometimes. drinking amaretto and
watching Sin city again. i like the violence. but i don't
like that i like the violence. and that frightens me. wanna
know what else frightens me? besides you reading this
of course. it's not what you think. it's not that our
beloved all knowing, all seeing, all powerful leader believes
that god wanted him to be president, it's the fact that no
one else is frightened by that. . . that . . . terrifies me . . .
almost much as blobs of brown stuff on the ground that can
never for certain be identified as shit or non-shit. hate count...0.
March 13, 2006
i don't know why i'm here. but i know why you're here. |
you're here for the flames; for the burniNg, to watch the car wreck,
the collapsing building, and to tOrch a few witches. i guess i must
have a Tarot deck in my pants, because you got your fanny wiggling and
tHat makes use more than friends.
and more than frIends means there is no love lost between strangers. i
could pick you out of a crowd, but you wouldn't notice me if i stood
before you and set myself on fire. again . . . witch burning. only
i'm the only one that you trust that remains invisible.
an iNvisible fire. . . .
that's what i am. your invisible fire! all passion,
no heat. all drama, no action. lonely, deserted, and stranGely in love
with that part of myself that smells like that part of yourself that
you try to ignore.
i'm going away. maybe for a long time; maybe forever; maybe until . . .
well, i don't know when. i won't lie and say thank you; i won't
tell you i'm grateful and that i love the attention or that
i love you; i'm selfish.
it's true, but you knew that. i'm sorry, i'm sorry; too much of the
wet stuff mixed with the powder they form into pills. they do it
on purpose, i'm pretty sure, to keep all the visionaries confused.
it's over. i'm done; gone; amen. the little old lady is speaking
a strange language; a dirt language. i won't lie. i t was me. i
know that now; and i deserve what i get.
... once more into the breech . . . teddy gives me one of those fanged grins.
i've got to laugh. what else can i do? what else can any of us do . . . but laugh?
February 27, 2006
when things like this happen i wonder if i H really am crazy. i mean i know i am.
i have the medical documentation to back it up. and the meds, and possibly the
bodies. but it disturbs me that sometimes things happen, that maybe i have done
things O and i don't know how or why or when. for example, the phrase i lie. did i
really put that in there? now i can't remember where it was, but it was brought to my
attention and i don't remember doing it. so did P i do it, did it sneak in? i don't
E like creaky floorboards and I people who are like that, creaky, tricky. the blue
boys made S a subtle suggestion about finding evidence. evidence they assume
would T point to me. the H crafty part of me thinks i overhead something i wasn't
supposed E to and it makes me paranoid that these two guys are H out to get me. but
then the paranoid O part of me wonders why M they would let me overhear it. then
the paranoid part says which sounds E a lot like rustling O leaves, well, rustling
leaves with turets syndrome, Fit's rather foul D mouthed, blue streak and all,
very hurtful, but it says they want you E to go back to the scene of the crime.
N it will prove you're guilty. but i don't know if i'm guilty and i was very
tired so i went home I and drank a lot and drank a Alot more and more and the
pills didn't sit right because i hadn't been fed. then i'm sick so the
voice L splits. it doesn't like to be around when i'm sick except sometimes
to yell at me when i'm vomiting. i think they're desperate. i think the
case will soon be closed. when this season of the comic ends, i have
been assured that the voice will leave for good . . . as long as no more
little old ladies move in next door.
February 13, 2006
conFused. as I seem To have lOst maybE not onlY a shovel but also a Container thaT i
have a receipt for. sounds like it was big. it was expensive. don't like remembering.
somEtimes theSe tiny sHivers will ruN up My arms Once then run up And up and aRound
my shoulders and i don't like the dead icy feeling it lays down in my stomach. "maybe
it wAs an accident. maybE i got so Lost i phOned Up the little old Neighbor lady jUst
because her house was where it was." but i never can seem to finish the thought. no one
eveR believes you when try to saY it was a Terrible terrible accident and that it Started
because of a misunderstanding. and also if you dredge up the thought about one
neighbor lady then what's to stop to stop neIghbor ladies from the many other thoughTs
when you thought you were doing so well. keeping to yourself, keeping your thoughts
quiet, not even mentioning the soft, quiet vOice which isn't nearly as soft or as
quiet as it used to be. but why go into such Negative things. you and i know you're not
interested in that. you're interested in the comic and could care less about a
voice or a lady or the boys in blue that keeping coming around.
they don't like me. but i like them. and sometimes i like you, too, but not today.
February 5, 2006
i hAte doorS. they invite all KiNds of EntRy. i'D rather Shave
in a house with no doors, no windows, no ventilation,
and especially no phones, no doorbells, no secret place
to keep a key. neighbor lady kept her's under a fake
rock. how sIlly is that? fake rockS don't look
Like real rOcks. i hate keYs too. especially doN't like
the way the little teeth (i hate that word...teeth) scrape
anD gRind agAinst the little tumblers. Kills me. i don't mind
the word tumblers. anywho, they wanted to see my shoes. said
something about matching a print or something. i showed them
what i was wearing but they wanted to come in and see the others.
i seem to be missing a pair, but i didn't tell them that. the voice
said no. clamped my mouth dowN by sEnding that little tWitcH into
my tongue. i bit and tears came to my eyes. they asked me if i
wanted some water. i said my water tasted like aluminum and they
frowned in that way that they do. i hate aluminum.
i hate frowns too, that's why i kept smiling, even though the
muscles of my mouth were thRObbing. yoU. i realize You'rE
not so bad. you. i realize you're not so good
either. there wasn't nearly enough begging for more strips
you know. but not drawing the strip was nice, but the
headaches came back, so much worse, and then,
beNeath all the surface nOise of the pLanes and the housE And
the traffic and the damned birds chirping, i hate them so much,
the voice. i'm drawing more not because of you're little whining,
which i kinda liked, but because the voice said just a few more and
it would leave me alone. i like being alone, which means i have to
start hating you again. sorry, but that's the way the fetus bounces.
December 3, 2005
more rantS to add to the pile. . . . once upoN a time i was
bOrn. being alive doesn't seeM to be all it's cracked up to bE,
Despite how everyone seems to value it. part of living iS knowing
you will one dAy die. sometimes tHe medication works and sometimes
it don't. it didn't work too well today. i know it didn't becausE i
doN't remember today very well. seems like there was some shOuting
and mY hands aRE all coVered in callouses and thEre's lots of dirT
Under my nails that i don't recognize. we don't have that kind of
dirt around here. weird, too, i seem to have Bought a new shovel,
though it looks old so maybe i just Stole one from the neighbor Lady.
she hasn't been around much anyway. must've run off somewhere or
somEthinG. and then, of course, there is you. you. you. what do i do
about you? there are you readiNg this, reAding the strip, thinking
good thoughts about mE. creatiVe. Artistic. nothing could be further
from the truth. i like tHat You think that About Me, but i don't
likE that you beLieve it. when the striP is done the vOicE will stoP.
i know it. it told me it would. it's been right so far. whEn's the last
tiMe you heard a voice you cOuld really truSt?
October 15, 2005
i know abouT you. any moment you're expecting gibberisH.
somE insane ranting. i do not rant. i say wHat's on my
mind. wEll, i hAve two minds, mine, and the voice mind,
the tumoR mind. They trIed to give me medication but i
didn't truSt them. i know beTter. ooh-doo-doo-dee. it
comes to me as some renowned baseball does a collector.
tHe words. i said that to shut the voicE out, just for a
Moment. do you want to know about me? imagine how i
feel. have yoU been reading the teeny tiny commentS?
is this ranting? i'm never sure. my neighbor is missing.
they wanted to know if i knew her, an old woman, no one
important. we stop being important after fifty. i Carried
her garbage out once. stoLe her mail twice. shE was saying
bad tHings about me tO the television. despite what you
may think, aluminuM foil is an excEllent conduit. i'm very
thIrsty now, i get that way when i've been liStening to
the voice for a very long time. iT's starting to make so
mucH more sEnse than it used to. i'm pretty sure this is
how religions got started so many millenia ago, with a
voice. my tumor is not god. i know that well enough. god
wouldn't make me cry, wouldn't wake me with heacaches.
wouldn't tell me Bad things. what do you think'll happen
to lucy or dO you even care? you don't write. you don't
send moNey. you're not a very good friend. i'm feeling
sick about the bugs and about you. friEnd=fiend.
October 10, 2005
when the police left i felt empty. YOU're my best
friend. i Came right in ANd watched a spider aNd a
roach crawl up a woodEn box, then i crushed them and
thought of you, my best friend, which means i hate
you less than eVeryone Else. i'm wRiting this now and
i have the urGe tO apply a pHOtoshop effect on this
that feels Much bEtter. when you sAy things
do you hear yourself say them or do you just watch for
the desired reaction on the fleshy face of your audience
person? i know you're disappointed, no boobs, no manGA,
no anIme, what kiNd of a freaky comic is this? you simply
cannot relate. no cat girls, no Boys tUrning inTo girls,
what is wrong with me that i refuse to clue into YOUr
perversions? the tumor tells all like a magic 8 ball. what
a perfeCt toy. All promises. like childhood. promises.
i like sayiNg that word. promises. hate couNt...zero. that
makEs me ill. are you ill? would you like to be? look who
i'm asking. the policeman's face turned a Vapid ashEn
white when i asked him that. he didn't answeR, which was
good because i couldn't REmember whAt question i asked,
but i knew by his face it was wrong. sometimes you have
to rely on your face reading skiLLs. the tumor said
Yesterday that there are many pLanEs And that i was sick
on all but one. not this one. see? no traVEl plans Either
my best frIend. i know you like i know THe mind of a
lEach. depRessing. headache again. bye.
October 05, 2005
i'm Not part of that whOle goth thing, that whole
pretending to be dark kind of thing that makes me
puke On every alterNate saturday, actually only on
the saturdays i go out and sEe people. people piss
me off. i don't like tHem. they don't like me. it's a
perfect relationship. except for the one i have
with yoU. i feel like cRying. i do That. swing from
one emotion to the next. i Saw god last night at an
intersection. can't remember where i was or whY i was
there nOw. details become fUzzy after a time, but god
Looked like shIt and he KnEw it and he knew i knew it
and he didn'T even Have the decency to be embarrassEd
about it. i was surprised i was the only one who recognized
him. i wasn't gOing to say anythiNg, you know, about
the crEation thing, and the Shit thing, and the
abandonment, and, of course, mY tumOr, who reared
its Ugly head at that particuLar moment and tOld me
what to do. i always do what the Voice says because
it's always right or at least it talks a good game and
if i hear one more person say some shit about talking
the talk i'm going to put a pack of razor blades in
their mouth and make them swallow. so i asked god,
hey, what's the fuck up with all this shit? he didn't
say much, but he looked ashamed so i guess that
makEs it alright.
October, 01, 2005
why are you Here? do you hOpe to find some
easeMent from the pain that rattlEs In your brain?
that rhymeS. that fact alone Will probably save my
neigHbors from an untimEly death. i'm distRactEd
momenTarily. my distraction Has savEd so many lives
i can't even begin to count. mY fLesh is readying
itself fOr putrefaction at this VErY second. i can
feel it. sOmething somewhere in some hideaway
place too Unspeakable to mention is crawling! i HatE
things that crawL. actuaLly, i kind of lIke them So
leT me repHrasE. i hate human thingS thAt crawl.
hate count so far...2. but why are you here? what
do you hope to find? your coMputEr is against you.
you are Pathetic, so you turn to someone Like me
to soothe you, to give you Another life, another
faCe, another dream bEcause you're too sad to livE
your own. you're eXCrement and i'm tired. i'm
always tired. tumors make mE tired. but the one i
have isn't mature yet, isn't Paternal, so i'll keep on
drawing. this is The last time i'll address you on
This level. i hate levels. and i Hate drawing. i only
do it so i won't gEt headaches, but it doesn't work.
go awaY now. you Do nOt matter aNyway. there's
nothing more To read.