AUTHOR.CALHO: If I didn't write it, I would be hitch hiking cross country to Maine and then Alaska in that order. While taking frequent breaks to spread leaflets. And sit in diners. And write on things because I wasn't at a computer. I may still do that in a few years. Writing this also helps me forget about and better understand the limitations of being human, and keeps me busy enough to allow me no free time to burn the world down.

THEMATIC.ABOUT : Collapse often. The things that hold people together and hold them apart and scatter brains. The things that make thoughts go boom. The things that ooh and aah and [expletive deleted]. Sometimes poking around the margins where responsibility ends and the only one to look to is the Original Equipment Manufacturer and say "but, I already pressed 9 for more options and the menus are exactly the same. Can you just replace it?" The answer will be: "please hold." Sometimes hanging out in dark corners. Sometimes following the train tracks. Looking for ways out and ways in and all the while sharing the things seen and heard and done and drawn and written and scorched and healed and teased and caged and dreamed along the way.

10/28/13

Scizophrenia

I continue to ask myself: what the hell am I doing wrong?  I don't get it.  I think I am assimilating well and then everything falls apart in my palms and I find myself catching bits and ... bits and pieces.  Remembering the wrong things and forgetting the right things.

I am you to you and you are me to me and there is a massive disconnect between and it hurts my heart.  I've been trying to do it through emulation and it has failed and succeeded in many ways.  I don't know how to express love or hate appropriately.  I feel like, just taking this car ride today, conversations are different and I can't remember part C or A but I can remember part B.

It's tiring.  Asking my other selves what happened in hours X toward Y or hours G to H.  Does everyone mark hours that way?  I don't know.  You're just an alcoholic.  It goes deeper than that and no, I'm not, but thanks for trying.

It burns my nerves.  I don't know when I'm being manipulated.  I don't know when it's just bipolarity.  Part of why I've taken to writing is that there is an actual record.  I get anxious sometimes wondering if the person invited to hang out is the same person that actually shows up or if they know the difference and on top of that it's been a hard pill getting to normal.

I don't know what I'm doing wrong, compounding everything is the idea and manifesto that I am the cat's nipples and I know I'm not.  I'm just another john, another burro, another acquaintance and it hurts my heart a lot and I do not know where else to push it.

Everybody wants something from me and all i want to do is slit a throat tonight and wash my hair in the blood, but there's no way I can get away with it tonight or weeks ahead and it's incredibly aggravating and not fair and I don't know what to do about it aside from spinning my wheels.

Brain virus.

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