Bumper sticker: Gone Crazy, Back Soon
Okay, settle down everyone. Here are some more notes from the blue filigree notebook:
Laura believes Dick has killed the last of a rare species of insect on their windshield.
In the end, I don’t deny I have it coming.
I hold grudges clutched tightly to my sweet, perfumed bosom.
You sick, sad, pathetic little bitch.
So much of life becomes unbearable, from the hurt of loneliness to the simple notion of 7 a. m.
After all the loss, only the loss remains.
My hatred was so pure it gave me chills.
Henry Miller’s day: eat, fuck, write, repeat.
Now, more than ever, I am certain you will never understand me.
I’d rather spend the rest of my life alone than spend another moment here with you.
I like the way he describes insanity with music.
No one ever said the apocalypse had to happen in a day.
They fuck to feel loved and love to feel fucked.
A cold, wet wind penetrates me and my intentions.
I hope that after I’m gone, you all choke on my bones.
Every song is about me.
I lost it all in her eyes.
It seems like there was a lot of ground for Burroughs and Kerouac to break, but now it’s all chopped up by a big machine.
I sound so weak when I say that you’re beautiful.
You turn your hate against yourself because you’re the only one you can punish.
I could smell the news
when I was 19
all black and white
ink and silver
weight on my shoulders
for collecting gold
the taste of impure death
throbbed in my temple
Houston, the ego has landed.
The answer to the question of whether to run or hide is simple: close my eyes. If it escapes my notice, it escapes reality.
Nobody hates me in my dreams.
Words only hurt when we swallow them without chewing.
Hating them is only hating myself, poorly concealed.
“All my other friends are just noise, but you, Richard, are quiet.” ~Jamie, 2002
Notes fall on my ears like rain on a lake.
I sit in stunned silence, waiting for the world to make its next move.
20˚ outside, but in this heart, it’s 40 below.
I am a sound you can’t hear. I am a light you can’t see.