Sunday, January 20, 2008


On my grandmother's old tv, she'd watch soap operas all day. Something — the cathode ray tube? — was wrong and every object had a ghost image. Anything that moved might carry several ghosts. It was like watching a superfast world slowed down so we could understand it.

I'm not entirely trustworthy, right now — I'm not right in the head. Maybe I should've tried the nicotine patch. I'm not sure I should be thinking at all. I finally had to stop pacing. I've been pacing for nearly three hours. It gets exhausting. I was trying to draw something when the page started warping in on itself and the ink lifted right off the page. I've been dreaming heavily all weekend. Much more vividly. When I'm awake, sound is reverberates in my skull. The high-pitches are nearly intolerable. Anything overly repetitive is just bouncing back and forth like an insane super ball. Anything high-pitched and repetitive is giving me insight into the mind of serial killers. Furniture keeps getting in my way. Light is shakey. Everything has a ghost. A phantom answering machine is floating above the actual answering machine. There's another computer monitor in the corner of my eye. Maybe Shintoism is the religion of withdrawl.


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