Thursday, November 29, 2012

stay away from her you fuck
fever

doctors fear infection

not the first time i'd have an infection there, very different cause though

police want to talk to me again

told them all i will

didnt tell them who you were

but do go on i quite enjoy your anger

because i am pissed too

you may not have meant to but you brought one of my friends back into this

he was safe and now he's not

fuck you

Saturday, November 24, 2012

Connor


So I haven't slept. Not really out of fear... but because I've been doing a little digging around and it seems like the world is far, far more complicated than I thought it was. Yesterday I received a video response on the aptly named video, "A Jacket To Make You Hug Yourself?" which... is in and of itself its own mystery as Ian was likely not the one to name it that. Not really his style. 

The clip was about six seconds long. Short and sweet. It showed my front door hanging open and BUSTED all to hell. Which I have to say, when I came home I noticed just how busted it was, but that was long before this video went up. That too, is a mystery for another day.

I want to put it aside and look at this video. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EeRc-3ESjJg

I've found two things wrong with the clip... beyond the obvious fact that it is so very wrong someone is recording my home at night. One of them is It, the tall fuck, standing in front of my door. The other, of course, being this We Must Collect fellow. I looked him up. Looks like he either was three people, who then became four, who then became two, who then became one, or he's still two people now? But this one called himself out by name, "Connor." So I kept digging.

This Connor used to run with some pretty fucking interesting characters... and I have no love lost for any of them and what he might do to them. I'll leave it at that.

Connor's a younger guy so small if I fell on him wrong I'd fear for his life. Seems to be a puffed up kid who likes picking on smaller, younger kids. Well, Connor, buddy, I think you bit off a tiny bit more than you can chew. What happened to this Puppet kid? Dead when you got there? Or was he sitting at his fuckin' desk minding his own business only to be knocked the fuck out without ever seeing you coming? Because to me, you and your little friends sound like cowards. 

Let's say I believe for a second that the tall fucker has made a deal with you. I know all too well where trying to deal with it goes and if what I've watched over the last few hours is any indication, you deserve everything that's coming to you. And I hope you share it with the others.

I saw what you did to the English kid. You've got a mighty little temper, kid. I assure you, you better get up nice and early and eat your fucking Wheaties when you come visit me. Lie with you? Hell no. I lie to survive. You kill to enjoy, and your little buddy who helped you looked to enjoy it as much as you. A shame you're fighting over a girl. Your own sister no less. That must've been one fucked up family.

I'm waiting.
I'm armed.
I'm about twice your fucking size.

Thursday, November 22, 2012

Thanksgiving

I have mysteries a-plenty: e-mails claiming to be from people I know, a missing best friend, a stalker, and even a nice potential set of disorders to turn my brain. But I have to come and make my first appearance to my family since I left. Everyone in this family talks. Everyone knows.

But in the long run, nothing is really happening, anymore. Not to me. So I can learn to focus on this kind of problem, but I'm not used to it.

In the mean time, Brian, I'll be thinking about ya, man.

Speaking of missing people... I guess I need to try to look into Abbey.

Monday, November 19, 2012

Well, I've tried to make myself sit down before now and write this.

I'm not sure what to really say.

I voluntarily went in.

But no matter the shifts in dosages or types of medications, the therapy, the endless incessant chatter, I didn't change. The medication just kept me asleep or so drugged up I thought I was asleep. It was like hypersomnia all over again. It was exactly like it. I felt like I was barely alive, not in the Oh Dear Me, I'm Dying, way, more like I was closer to a zombie.

I got lucid enough to decide to leave. The night I got out, on the 17th, I went to a local bar again. Probably not a good idea, but I wanted to hang with a couple of the local musicians, shoot the shit. I've missed 'em. It was a crowded building that night, because of a concert. The girl who I saw in that damned forest.. she showed up.

She was there. The guy I was talking to saw her too.

That's enough to satisfy the insanity--hallucination worry.

My e-mail account lists three emails from strange e-mail addresses.

They're all variations of each other with numbers on the end and each e-mail is inconsistent with what I would expect to receive from the people sending them. I got the first on the 30th of October, the second on the 3rd of November and the third two days before I checked out of the ward.

As with many other things it makes no sense.

The first is from Quinn who advises me I need to go check on "the Silent Asa", as he has "literally and alarmingly embraced radio silence." He then advises me to not stay around my father's place for Thanksgiving Dinner and to instead come back to "safe house 1."

The other is from Brian, who says I need to call Quinn and talk to him about what to do while I'm in the midwest.

It makes no sense.

The third is signed Cenobia, thouh not from her usual e-mail. And what it says I won't repeat.

That is my mystery du jour.