Taggart just read a lot of my blog posts, he says he needs drugs. He’s going to go on medications, I guess. I’m listening to “Something I Can Never Have.” The pure unadulterated glory. God. I put on a shitload of black eye makeup, it looks like I have two black eyes. It’s how I feel. Taggart is reading his Kieth Haring book. Kieth Haring is his favorite artist. Did I mention Taggart is an artist? I have a penchant for leaving things out. I’m going to make a fucking huge sculpture fucking crammed with shit like in the last post. Kill me, rape me, desecrate me, penetrate me. I just want something I can never have. I have this relationship and it’s like, not the secret to whatever I’m trying to find in this world. I have a little sore on the inside of my lip. Maybe it’s herpes. My new years’ resolutions are to die a meaningless death and to get addicted to a drug. I have to go return some video tapes.

Fuck me. Kill me. Rape me. Desecrate me. Violate me. Infect me. Ruin me. Hate me. Hurt me. Scar me. Destroy me. Torture me. Break me. Spoil me. Control me. Devestate me. Cut me. Bruise me. Use me. Abuse me. All I want is to be part of you.

I am your whore, your slave, your fuck buddy, your dildo, your warm orifice, your dump, your shithead, your “I’ll fuck you until somebody better comes along,” your bitch, your cum guzzler, your glutton for punishment, your fucker, your slut, your fucking machine.

You’re my fucking machine, my depression machine, my cuddling machine, my death machine, my love machine, my sleep machine, my random kiss machine, my hate machine, my fear machine, my self-loathing machine, my shit machine.

I have to go return some video tapes.