Friday, October 30, 1970

Fig. 024

The last call of a man beaten apart by harpies and sirens.

I've been looking around trying to figure out exactly where I went wrong. I was turning this town all upside down, oh what was I to do? You let me hang it all out when what you wanted was in and just be leaving alone, so I was ripping apart and trying to get a head start. Trouble was I set behind me all the tools that I need and now I'm slipping away. Oh my chest is on fire while it's collapsing my heart and burning me to the ground, so the devil slips out and he starts calling you name and you start playing his game. Tell me right now how you found out and started moving around when the dark was oh so loud and wouldn't let you shout but I still heard your words. "Back away my son, I'm blowing down this wall and we'll be setting it free. Your hands are mine and I will do what I wish so you can shut your mouth. Forget all that you've seen." But my eyes were wide so I never saw a thing and in forgetting it brings all the things that I did not need. Now I'm looking around trying figure out how to leave it behind...

Monday, October 19, 1970

Fig. 023

I love that look in your eyes.

Sunday, October 18, 1970

Fig. 022

From a tape transcription. The origin of the tape is still very unknown, but our scientists are working around the clock to figure it out.

A kid. He was just a kid. But drop from the world. I dare you. How many kids does it take? We watch him slide from the pallet and fall to the Earth. We hate him for his youth and vitality. Do you even understand. He has what you had. You could find it again inside of him, and yet you show him your scorn. Fall apart. I dare you. Allow his tempting soul to twist and tangle with yours. A game, free for the taking. You'll not succeed though. We don't play that way. We have a whole new method. Success. There is no such thing. There never was. It was all an elaborate April fool. They got you. Your world was rocked. Show me your mind, mangled with disdain. Tell me where you are from. Tell me all that you have done. Spill your guts, lest this knife do it for you. Welcome to the world we live in. You were always here, you just couldn't come in. Well here is you invitation, we expect an RSVP. I must leave now. The captain beckons and I am his. Enjoy your dolls until I return. Be the boy.

Friday, October 16, 1970

Fig. 021

A declaration of independence.

They call it a car. She calls it a home. I call it a beast. I become sick. Violent retching. All is well now. To finally be beside her. This is awkward only in the fact that it is not awkward. For so long we played cat and mouse. I'd catch her, only to loosen my grip as a fool might do. No more games. We are not animals. Not of that variety, anyway. I crave her like a wolf does. That phrase only tickles me now. I used to mean it in such a feral sense. Now it comes across in a metaphorical sense. I need her. What is all this? It's funny how we play in these circles. Years go by and everything changes. Nothing ever changes. We run free on a track. That does not even resemble free. We explode into the air, encased in glass bubbles. Will it be too late before we learn to break through? Or is this how we break through? Do we simply continue to try until the glass shatters. If so, am I shattering it by making headway this time? Will I lose out again? Perhaps I will only crack it this time. God, I hope not. I feel like this must be it. Watch me. Just watch me. You'll see.

Monday, October 12, 1970

Fig. 020

From a brief conversation I had with a bum.

I call it a pillow. The pavement. Cold. I have a strong distaste for cement. It's not comfortable. I hate sleeping here. Boxes for blankets, it's just no good. And fuck what some prick who owns a restaurant says. Those dumpsters don't belong to nobody. I'll take from them as I please. The idiot throws away perfectly good food, and I eat like a king. Aside from my pillow, it's not so bad. I just need a pillow. I like being homeless. You got nobody to report to. The food is good. Sure, rainy nights are kinda bad, but you get through them. You don't need anything else. They let me read at the library. I've read a lot of books. I like it. But yea. Thanks for the change pal. Have a good one.

I went to a local furniture store and bought him a pillow immediately after this exchange.

Thursday, October 8, 1970

Fig. 019

A letter from the Great Admiral Admiral to his crew, in regards to his loss of control.

My Crew,

It's four in the morning time. Hand in the jar. So to speak. Bottle pressed hard to my lips. If they bleed then I can at least feel it. I tried so hard. I couldn't compare. I was stuck in this park, withering beneath the tree. No sunlight ever saw me. I don't want your sympathy. I just need you to understand why I have failed you time and again. Alright, we'll do this your way. It was her. She was every fault. I fear I might have made her up at this point. I know that she has lost me. I am no longer tied to her moorings. I am now spinning even more out of control than ever before. I will be leaving you in the morrow. What will it take to make you understand? I am alone. Completely alone now. She no longer exists. Not to me. I have collapsed. I am nothing. I made a pact. It is done with. How I am even alive escapes me. It's as if he feels this is my hell. The one thing I thought I was meant for has turned out to be a complete sham. Where will I go? I shall leave you the ship. I will walk. My feet are already mangled from my trials in the city. No desert can tarnish me more. I pray you will all eventually forgive my illness. Return to your families, should they still exist. This life is no longer yours to claim, unless you want it. I truly love each of you, as you have stayed fast in my search.

No longer your Admiral

Tuesday, October 6, 1970

Fig. 018

His father's last words. They were spoken with ferocity.

My first mistake was touching. My next was tasting. Sin had never felt so ripe on my tongue. It was sweet. Juicy. I was in love with it's intoxicating scent. Inhaling was that next mistake. Back to the touching. We'll dwell on it a bit. The amazing feeling of her hip bone pressed in my palm. My fingers moving ever dangerously closer. Hands sliding up her body. the way they bend along with her curves, shifting slightly at the point where her ribcage begins to rise. feeling each rib as I slowly pass. My hand gently cupping her neck as I pull her face closer to mine. Tasting. We're tasting again. Next will come other tastes. Salty, bitter and sweet. Sex is wine. It is palpable. For hours after I still taste her. Thrusts go from slow and steady to rampant and carnal with no warning. She wants more out loud. I beg her not to break me inside. I will break her inside. Slapping and screaming and clawing and creaking and moaning. She is not ready for this. I am not ready for this. We must grow up somehow.

Fig. 017

This last will was found hastily written on the inside of a Starburst candy wrapper.

This is what was left behind. That and a key. The key meant nothing. That wrapper meant everything. The cigar box that held them yearns for you. I tell him to be quiet. I tell you to be still.