I've washed up somewhere. They call it Kunpuu. Just when something good happens, something worse comes along to destroy it like a tornado of collage jocks on spring break in the mid-west.

At least some of my supplies and my music came with me. I want to go home.

( Shh, their coming. )

[Devi closes the door behind her, sliding down it to lean against it and sighs. Another world? again She rolls her neck and stands again, leaving the backpack where it lay. The apartment is dull but it's clean. She's resigned to plain acceptance, knowing that this is just like everything else.

"At least I'll have time to work on my art."

She thinks ( Read more... )

....I feel sick.

(*/*/**)

... I don't know what to say. I'll write again later ( Read more... )

I HAVE TO WORK. Every time I think about it though, something irritating happings. That fucking doll's affectiong things. I don't know how, but I just FEEL IT. She won't let me even think about working, but I can't let that stop me. Hold on.... the toilet's overflowing

(*/*/**)

Mr. Nevers called me today. I think he's one of those immaculate products of pure evil the devil was talking about.

(*/*/**)

I dreamed the devil was jealous of God's ability to create life. In the dream, I was still working at the bookstore, and was wearing an astronaut's spacesuit. The Devil seemed pretty lonlely, and kept making small talk ( Read more... )

I dropped a box of paints, and the psychic fat lady downstairs complained to the manager that I was not dying in a plane crash soon enough.

(*/*/**) 

I hate myself when I don't work. I hate that it makes me this miserable. The longer I stay away from getting the pictures out of my head, the worse the world looks around me. Sounds are tinnier, colors to garish, voices too irritationg. I see people's faces in that scanning electron mircoscope kind of way, pitted and crawling with grease and filth ( Read more... )