crazy killer
June 18th, 2017 Sometimes I think I am going mad. I live for days in the mystery and tears of things so that the commonest object, the most familiar face - even my own- becomes ghostly, unreal, enigmatic. I get into an attitude of almost total skepticism, nescience, solipsism even, in a world of dumb, sphinx-like things that cannot explain themselves. The discovery of how I am situated as a sentient being on a globe in space overshadows me. I wish I was just nothing. P.T.S.D I haven't really had time to process it all. Or maybe I will just push it under a rug, that rug. It's cramped, packed full. Spilling out over the ends. How much more can I sweep under that rug? It is so ugly anyway, I need to get rid of it, donate it to Goodwill. “You're crazy”. The words just echo over and over in my head. I guess my father could fabricate quite a good story in the last five years. Where I am? What I am doing? Who? How? What? Why? What the fuck ever. Well, crazy successful. I wish Ce...