Ghosts in Brian County, repeating their worst mistakes over and over again.

[unburiable]

Negligent writing became a sore spot on the schedule, which in itself had already turned into so much of a mess that it seemed almost ridiculous to avoid the standard awful daily reflection, which was as absent as the expression on a mirror’s face that is locked in a tiny dark closet. Nobody wanted to say anything about it either, but everybody

Comments

[demedulce]

That . . . that picture is just evil. Evil, I say.

I don't understand what's happened tonight.

[unburiable]

“I could never actually stomach the creatures. Which is why, I suppose, she had this thing with sending them to me sealed in plastic envelopes. But I’m not taking any of this well. I’m staying at a motel with no name, by the side of the interstate. It’s run by an old lady who calls herself Beatty, and she keeps saying ‘not like Warren, but like Boop.’ I told her twice I couldn’t give a fuck what her name was just so long as I could make collect calls from the room telephone, but she’s even coming here now as I write this, and I have this sick feeling at the base of my spine that she’s going to repeat what her name is and how I’m supposed to be going about pronouncing it. Like I haven’t just been calling her ‘look, lady’ since I got into this go-nowhere shell of a wasted town. Maybe one day I’ll get to where I’m going and I can be safe again. I placed the octopus on the dashboard of a rented vehicle and snapped a photograph of it so she’d know where I was. Behind the octopus was a postcard dated 18 November, that I had shipped to Megan

it's not the girl.

[demedulce]

not this one, anyway.

Measure.

[unburiable]

"She's always saying that, too."

- The Autobiography of Stanley Gabriel Keyes (a diary Gabriel never finished, from 1984).

Re: I don't understand what's happened tonight.

[demedulce]

This is the best re-response I've ever gotten to a response.

Window reflection.

[unburiable]

“I never learned anything from him either. In truth, I think he sort of sapped a lot of my natural energy. Sort of like he was a lamppost, and I, well, the outlet. He’d stick his little ideas into me and in turn he would shine, while I, on the other hand, never got paid for my services-he was a bad customer, so to speak. But don’t think that’s anything to do with something coy. Rather take it for what it’s worth and save yourself the progress of understanding that when things go wrong they sometimes mean the end of the world is coming.”

- The Autobiography of Stanley Gabriel Keyes (a diary Gabriel never finished, from 1984).