Southern Justice (This Reminds Me of The End of the Tour and DFW's TV Addiction and His Thoughts on Entertainment Technology and the Future.)

I've just been watching Southern Justice on TV. My heart beat faster. I felt like crying. I felt like I was taking part in an uncertain, dangerous situation. I'm glad I am watching that show. I don't want to stop.

It's funny, [: Blaha!... I just saw an ad for a new episode of Southern Justice that airs tonight. I shed two tears. My nose is runny.

Why is this me?

Also, right before this commercial break, the cops on the show got a call about a guy threatening suicide... so...


I feel like I am crying

.......

oh my god ......................


can you hear very quiet screams too? ...



I am so alone. And so beautiful: I feel so beautifully, so perfectly...


I am happy. I am content.

I am crying more.



The young man on Southern Justice.


The cops found him in the basement. Alone in a house. Like me right now (except the dogs, I guess.)


There were cans of beer. I think he was drunk. The cops told him that they were there because his mom was worried about him.

-- He walked away from them. He faced a wall and began to cry. He had cut his arms. They took him in for protective custody. They said they were just there to help him. One cop said it was a dangerous situation, but "luckily, he just cut himself." I laughed out loud. I stood up. I began to cry. I felt strange emotions. I was so grateful for these people on the show and the people who made it and broadcasted it, and other people like them. Who do some kind of artful reporting. Some kind of meaningful entertainment. Honest and kind observers. Humans trying to live, trying to do well. I am proud of these people. I am proud to be a person. I am capable of something. I plan to try to do a few things. --

... We are special people ... ...  I just don't know. Days and nights. Star and electricity. Cars and houses. My eyes. My hands. My brain.

Umbilical.

Nikki Rader... again. I am god again. I eat tacos... again. I cum inside her... maybe... I guess that I still do not know.

Why.

I am a puppy. I want to drink a cup of milk. A bowl of fresh cool milk. I am Neutral Milk. I cum rain bbuckets. I am The Rain. I love myself. I love pretty girls. I love good cops. I love TV and all of my senses.

I have senses that I am not even aware of yet.


I believe that I am eternal.


I believe in God. God wipes my baby.


I feel weird.


I ate shit pizza rolls. I am Shit.

Two prepubescent white boys spent the night in a cheap motel with their father. The Deep South. The late 1990s.


I never want to die. I want to feel good. I suk.


My best friends are: God. James Joyce. My penis. Hell. A fat guy alone on a queen bed in a small house: he is about to die. He killed his heart. McDonald's ate his life. He was born a baby. His parents were half-conscious.


This will be a beautiful work of art.


If I can still be alive.

No, I mean really alive.

I mean fully concious.

We drive to the Alamo draft house.



Gee, wheeze... ... How can I explain this to you?


How do I explain myself?

What do I have

to say for myself?


Please send me a letter.


Please make me answer your phone call.


Please make me clean myself.


Please.

I want to do things that make my body better.


I want to conquer Mount Olympus.


I must keep going.


I cannot feel myself.


Let me ask why again.


You are the reader. You are also God.


This is my purpose and my meaning.


I cut down the unsafe tree. He was a middle-aged oak. He spoke to an electrician.


I must exit myself for now.


The End


[ ;


P.S.
I am listening to The Hill by Marketa Irglova. Yesterday Mom and I watched the last good while of Once on TV.

I broke down

I build myself up

The The End