January 28, 2007 |
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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 |
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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 |
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i haTe that i’m dizzy. meds are too strong. again. i Hate that no one reads these, well, no one excEpt for “her” and she’s 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 you’re 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 i’m not sUre i like you. but i’m sure you don’t care |
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May 17, 2006 |
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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! |
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March 27, 2006 |
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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. |
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March 13, 2006 |
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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 |
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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. 
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February 13, 2006 |
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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.
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February 5, 2006 |
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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. hate count...6
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December 3, 2005 |
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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?
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October 15, 2005 |
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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.
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October 10, 2005 |
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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 thingsdo 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.
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October 05, 2005 |
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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.
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October, 01, 2005 |
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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. hate count...4.
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