This entry's very long. Originally written in four and a quarter columns on the back of two flyers found at the Utopia. I used a pencil, not a pen. I drank a lot and bought a ticket for New Year's Eve then took the long way back home while sighing heavily because everything felt so meaningless in the cold dark night under the cloudy skies which flew over the shadowy giants to the west.
My father sees ghosts.
I am dead.
My sister says the house is empty now without me there being loud constantly reminding her (and in my fear, my mother) that I still existed.
Pictures of Ben & Kate seem lost and forlorn and they tear at my heart. If I see them again it's because they died. Like my grandfather, I talk to my dad over the phone. Rona, Chris, Colleen and others answer the phone & hear silence knowing that its for him.
Devo knows that I'm dead and it's so real to her that she can't believe in ghosts except for late at night. I rail like a homeless ghost in hopes of some reaction or emotion so I can continue telling myself that I am not dead. I love Devo.
Finally gone & expired my mother feels relief. Is it because I never followed through with hanging myself on the staircase like the vision which haunted me awake or asleep in New Jersey? Probably just that I'm gone and the absence hangs in the air waiting to be acknowledged but the living don't want to see. My death is the greatest gift I could give her and getting that great gift maybe then she could love me. Sadly it means I can't get my revenge on her by prospering or getting by, same thing, and not caring what she thinks of me.
When I arrived Jay talked about ghosts and how back where he lived there were ghosts who couldn't be in the same room as the living through choice or punishment. He said there weren't any ghosts there in the basement.
Just me.
The new ghost who left the room when his mother came in and lurked like a thief (an epithet like cunt to a woman)(still I stole & steal and feel no shame, pride only) out of her eyes but not her presence.
My father wishes for me for my death was the death of his heart & dreams, I would do what he didn't do and didn't accomplish in his eyes but I know he did & accomplished what I couldn't do in a life time and truly succeed being the most influential man in Millburn.
What I started working on in my head once I was out here was the American Comedy (in the happy ending sense not the HAHA sense) where Colorado Springs is Heaven the final destination and of course its heaven because of all the Christians of which I've become if not in Nature but by name, coming in on a technicality not the merits of my deeds. Brian, psychopomp, Virgil, Charon, Anubis, guides me to Purgatorio and past leaving me with my Beatrice for my last moment with my last love as she sat alone over the gulf between in a quiet moment alone. I was good enough to come this far.
The thing about Heaven is the same as Hell. You can't leave, only Heaven gives the illusion of you can leave. That's how they getcha. That's how they getcha.
Kylie is me. The voice of me if I was sane, if my mother died in childbirth of Laura leaving me free of the trouble dying early. Decent, human, honest, universally loved and knowing when thoughts are bullshit & yelling "Quit that".
In cursive, "2uit that".
This is true because I am a Sagittarius, a dual sign representing the division between the human mind and the bestial mind. The moon is in Gemini, my rising sign, representing my subconscious. Gemini represents the duality between the rational and the emotional mind. If you order now I will send you Dianetics by H. Ron Studebaker. Anyway it all makes sense in my head plus I'm certain that I've lost the two known dream skipping people already (maribou and Makonan). Shh, that's my little way of having them tell me they didn't skip it. If Jaybird looked at the diary I'm sure I'd hear no end to the silver bowl comments but then he'd have to deal with my magicke CD ROMME.
(somebody left a beer [?] in the Utopia bathroom). Kylie will finish college & not have to lie like me like I wish I could do.
One thing I seriously doubt is that I won't write my stories in the end because putting them on paper will only disappoint from what is expected. Only way to read them would be to go to the Dreaming and visit Lucien's library. The stories of Dexter Norton, of me travelling through nine states to ascend then finish. Knowing a true name gives one power over that thing whether turdus migratorius for robin redbreast or Beelzebub for the Lord of the Flies. Sometimes it is enough to know and not to do. I know. I don't do. I don't keep silent. Crowley didn't keep silent. Unlike him I whisper because my voice is grave dry and hollow like the human disappointment of this site, the words and the life within. True names are also in social security numbers, an extention of the Zionist gematria. Now I feel distant and alone and there is nowhere to go no matter how much I mumble Malyss in my sleep as if my first love can make it better, save me or breathe life into my heart again. In Missouri I met my mother again but this time she had her dream which was part of Hell in my eyes. Nice car. Clean apartment. While. Don't touch the furniture. Don't do that. That's not the way to do it and I don't care if you meant well. Don't touch me even for a brief hug of gratitude. It's not her fault for she doesn't know how I see this. When I leave, my drive (pun intended) is renewed to continue.
When I woke in that dream back home I was awake for the last time opening my eyes from the death dream which forestalled death finally coming but I was alone light filtering through rusty blinds as I took my last simply because dreams were finer than life.