Friday, November 6, 1970

Fig. 030

We've got to keep that little clear thing ticking. Turn the plastic knob there. Ok, now what does it say?

This could be the last time I break down. You do know that, right? Like, this could be the final chance to save me. You don't have to stand by and watch me suffer. Fuck, quit acting like you don't know what I'm talking about. You sit there with this disgusting smirk on your face, telling me your stories of a new artist. You tell me how much you love him. You tell me how much he reminds you of me. Let me tell you how much you remind me of no one. What the hell happened to you? You used to be so free-spirited. I remember when you knew what art was. You were so beautiful then. You fought for it, too. No one could take from you what you loved. The music you liked was so delightfully poppy that even I could not help but to move to it. It was all about love and the feeling of it. Now it's all about heartache and fights and war. In one day I watched you turn into this mangled wretch while I sank further into the ocean. My breathing was gone, and I fear you sacrificed your ability to live by saving me. I will not mourn your loss. It's time to start over. Let's start over. I'll start over. START OVER. startover... start.... over......