Anger

is what ruled me - it's not that I have not known, but every time I re-read what I have written some time ago, I am struck by the rawness and ferocity of the one emotion that thrusts itself out from the thicket of words.

Like a wronged whore with breasts heaving. Ravaged and torn and mutilated.

And then there is the crowd. But of course. Hyenas. The world needs scavengers too.

What heals anger? Save amnesia?

Fuck Off

There are a few images or symbols that speak to me of a deep rooted sort of disgust. A kind of disgust that a child who was molested or a woman who was raped would feel. The image that I associate with it is generic, in the sense a certain aspect of some of the very commonly recurring patterns or themes in nature causes this nausea to rise in me.

Numerous spherical objects grouped together; static is bad enough, but if they form a moving, writhing mass I go through hell. During my very very very low moments I have been bombarded with images of innumerable spherical disgusting objects under my skin and them bursting out. I could almost drown in my own puke now.

The reason I am saying this now is because, this, you miserable piece of shit, is exactly how I feel when I think of the subhuman scum that you are, and that I was cursed enough to witness your perverseness. Associating it with child molestation is right, because when you were 18, I must have been just two years old. Maybe you did whip that rotting piece of meat in your hand and jack off in front of young children too. I wouldn't put that past you, you mongrel scum, you who could spew spiteful curses on a mere child, you are capable of anything.

Rot in hell!