>Marilyn Manson - New Model, No. 15
>Marilyn Manson - User Friendly
>Nine Inch Nails - Somewhat Damaged

I’ve ascertained why my dad doesn’t give a fuck about me. My mother told me a long time ago that my dad never wanted kids. That’s why he keeps saying he’s going to kick me out when I turn 18. I’ve got to get the fuck out of this insane asylum. I’m going to ask tomorrow about boarding out in Eureka. He’s like a spoiled little child. “Wash the dishes! Do it now!” he wants to be some kind of fucking sultan. He says I’m going to have to start doing stuff in order to be able to go to the doctor or get things like a backpack. WHAT THE MOTHERFUCKING FUCK? AM I NOT FUCKING HUMAN? I FUCKING HATE HIM SO MUCH. I told him that I couldn’t wait for the day that he died. He didn’t say anything. I swear, how the fuck did my parents ever get along? My dad is a fucking apathetic, childish wannabe sultan, and my mom is an infantile, domineering Hitler. Well, they both have childish emotions, and they both want complete control over everything. How sick. Excuse me while I vomit. According to my dad, I have to work to merit anything (food, love, medical care, an education, A FUCKING BACKPACK?) And according to my mother, where I first went wrong was leaving the womb, in her world she needs to control everything about my life and all my friends need to pay tribute to her perfection. They’re both fucking insane. I’ve got to get the fuck out of here.

>Marilyn Manson - Target Audience “you’re just a copy of an imitation”
>Wumpscut - Witches’ Dance
>Marilyn Manson - The Golden Age Of Grotesque

I had a dream about Kelly’s friends last night, it was really fun, Katie was portrayed as a fretting nincompoop, as she is. In one part I held hands with Taggart, a memory I savor. It’s strange. I revolt myself, so any kind of physical contact with another (in a romantic context) revolts me as well, because I’m a part of it. I suppose my kind of boyfriend is a porcelain effigy of beauty beyond measure. I can’t love because I can’t trust…those who I find beautiful I can never trust, because in my mind beauty is synonymous with deceit and duplicity, simply as a conditioned response. How depressing. Fuck. I think that my subconsious has adopted Taggart as the new paramount of aesthetic virtue, the new unicorn of intangible desire. How sickening. Men suck. All they want is sex. Taggart is supposedly an actor too…beautiful and intelligent…is that possible? People have told me that, but only online…everybody looks better online. And they’re twice as articulate, since one has time to formulate answers, unlike speech. I fucking hate stupid people, optomists, self-described “goths”, trendies, druggies, hicks, socialists, and stoners. Ah, I feel much better. Love is so…superficial and shallow. I want to get married, but I can’t. Fucking Republicans. I’m moving to Berlin.

>Garbage - #1 Crush
>Marilyn Manson - Slutgarden
>VNV Nation - Carbon

I’m really bored, and aside from vehemently hating my father, there’s nothing that I can do. I’m about 1/3 of the way through J.G. Ballard’s “Super-Cannes”, I finished Invisible Monsters a night or two ago. I guess I just can’t wrap my mind around the concept of apathy. How could he not care whether I live or die? My father is not alive, he doesn’t feel for anyone other than himself. I’ve been watching the Star Trek marathon on Spike all day, I e-mailed my mom about the shipping for the stuff she wants. I checked my painting, it’s not dry yet, and I still don’t understand what it means. My room is still a frickin’ mess. I don’t know what do to with all the crap, I need a little table…ooh I’ll steal one of the ones in the living room. I just don’t know what to do with it all, there are CDs everywhere, and my CD cases are all still in New Jersey. I don’t have the money to send my mom her stuff so she’ll send me my stuff. I want my Orgy poster and my Matrix Reloaded poster, not to mention all my books that I need. How am I supposed to do any research when I don’t have my books? It’s rigoddamndiculous. I need to send Kathy her book so I can get Crash back, but I’m essentially a prisoner here. I can’t even get my dad to go to Wal-Mart. I perfectly hate him. No aspect is left out. Everything he does revolts me, except for when he buys me stuff. I guess that’s the only reason I’m here.

My asshole of a father, without my permission, took the pristine, new traffic cone I stole in Sacramento last year, and put it out with his horses. What a fucking loser. I ALWAYS ask to use something if there is a large possibility that it will be destroyed, ESPECIALLY if I were to put someone’s posession outside, exposed to the fucking elements. Sometimes I wonder if he cares about anyone other than himself. I have this weird boil-looking thing on my hand, and the rash thta I’ve had for three weeks has migrated to my stomach. If I have some disease that could have been treated early, I’m going to burn down his “palace”. I would love to see the look on his face seeing the charred remains of his pride and joy. When the cheap bastard finally takes me to the doctor, if I have some life-threatening disease, he’d better kiss his pretty “home” goodbye. I’d even burn down the fences. The garage, sugar in his car’s gas tank, even the barn, effectively killing his pretty little horses. I wish I could make him see that my life is much, much more important than he thinks. If it ends, his life will be flushed down the shithole along with mine. Imagine, being too cheap to take your own son to the doctor. I hope I never become that much of a…monster. Monster. That’s what he is. An egotistical, horrible monster of a person, so consumed with their own wishes and tyrannical wants that they don’t even care about their own son anymore. I wish he was dead.