Don't look at the

There is crushing silence.  I can’t help but notice all the walls are painted blue though of course at night they appear quite black.  There is an absence of dialogue and beyond that a deep sense of responsibility that makes everything awful.  I think Grace has left us a rather long time ago.  Sometimes I’ll put on a cowboy hat and step outside onto the balcony and I’ll sing a song to myself and I’ll be reminded of another though I can’t quite place the where or when or even the who.  I simply feel incredibly lost and stymied by own uselessness.  

There is ugliness inside everything.  There is an animal crawling and clawing around inside my brain.  The room smells like rotting flesh and I think that visible movement is nothing more than maggots crawling around.

There is a tremendous amount of glass on the table and it is largely a compensatory measure.  Fucking mindless cruelty.  Why is everything painted in such garish colors these days?  There is no sound more repulsive than that of writhing sweaty bodies pressed against one another, mindlessly moaning and exposing all their favorite urges.  Spirit has become so deformed.  Oh, how she wishes everyone would simply stop talking to her.  Can’t she just stay inside her room all day without looking at anyone, without having to speak to anyone?  I wish everyone would just stop talking to me.  

Cut me out of this red dress, I badly need to make it to the church on time.  Why are there so many chimes inside my head?  Someone is doing things in there and I can’t get them out.  He is envious of those things which have fallen so far and it is twisting inside his gut.  Now is the time to alter our minds.  Let us not pursue anything of any value.  Please help me to lose the last shred of self-respect to which I was foolishly clinging.  

It is very cold when he wakes up and he is shaking.  Can he just vomit this out of his system?  Is the time right for him to begin drawing on the floors?  Would marker show up clear enough on the carpet?  She and he both wonder out loud if he has ever had an original thought in his life.  Rest assured, it is well oiled and fits very neatly against his temple.  

When he looks at himself in the mirror it is not uncommon at all for him to think “wow, you are a supremely ugly man.”  

There is a natural absurdity that seeps in which gives generous credence to ruinous origin.  It is strange but sometimes when I open my eyes all I see is fire.  Perhaps I just need to be honest with myself.  It is quite frightening all the things that keep staring at me from outside the window.  

Mornings are the absolute worst where I am forced to catalogue all of my fears and then put them inside a neat little decorative box that I wrap up with a bright pretty bow.  There is something like a dagger right between my eyes.  I like to take pratfalls as many times as possible, especially if I can fall down an open sewer hole in the process.  

Yeesh, I’m far too busy being a dumb motherfucker today. I don’t understand a single bit what it means that I woke up inside this horrifying red room.  

At lunch I prepared for myself a turkey on wheat sandwich.  It was the kind of turkey that comes in one of those cute little packages and is really only sufficient for one sandwich.  I was nearly out of mustard and this came dangerously close to provoking a fresh wave of tears but there was enough for one slice of bread.  I had a generous amount of mayonnaise but I was careful not to apply this spread too liberally to the other slice.  I then neatly placed the turkey on the mustard slice and covered it with the other, standing back to admire my creation in the light.  I’ve met thousands of people who do not enjoy the crusts on bread but I have long maintained the crust is the very best and purest part.  I then poured myself a glass of apricot juice, no ice.  Truth be told, the sandwich looked so good I almost did not want to eat it.  But eventually I succumbed to the overpowering hunger and in a mere matter of minutes I had consumed the sandwich entirely and was washing it down with the sweet and refreshing juice.  

Brains splattering.  

I sat down on my bourgeois sofa at some point and began biting my nails.  I turned on the fan because I was hot and tried to read from a book about ancient Chinese history (why did I not gouge their eyes out?!) but I ended up reading the same page 9 times and I still could not understand it.  I began grinding my teeth very hard despite the pain already present in my jaw so I switched to biting my tongue and felt a little relief when I tasted fresh warm blood.  Someone in the wall behind me laughed me really loud and I jumped a bit and then started to slap myself on the face.  I think maybe I wanted someone to hug me but I am not sure who.  Maybe someone empathic, yes.  Please.    

Where are all the amusing things?  My head hurts so much.  I think they forgot to give me my milk today.  

This is excessive misery that we desire for ourselves.  What pathetic and desperate things we are.  I told you to set up some boundaries early.  I think I did.  Maybe that never happened.  The air in here sure is suffocating.  I’d like to listen to some music in a bit, something soothing I think.  Please stop slamming that fucking door.  Where have all the good times gone?  A day in the life of lunacy.  My utility belt would likely have plenty of sneezing powder for just such occasions.  Let’s all devote ourselves to worthlessness, shall we?!  

He keeps walking alongside a river and it is a rather comforting thought to imagine jumping in.  There will come a time when he has to look back and he must wonder if this is really what he wants to see.