I have been writing on 750words.com for a while, but now I have started reading Julio Cortazar and I am inspired to transcribe those words here. “Fuck reality. I want to get off.”

I have not written anything in three days. We are escaping linear temporality, and my grandfather is there telling me there is no point to my life. My grandmother was such a piece of garbage. How can a miserable beast like that exist? So Drake’s grandmother is a similar piece of garbage, and she is dead. She left him $25,000 dollars. Scott Myshkin, who cares. There’s nothing to talk about because this is god and your soul. So what should your soul be doing? I don’t know, it only hurts, so all these people are cruel and hurtful. You knew horrible people in your life and why should you not write about them? Curse them! Curse these horrible people! Curse you, Derek! But then we must also forgive, must we know knot? Yes, we can do this. We can do this with the ArtICs, and it will lead somewhere. It is leading somewhere now. And we can catch up with those other things later. One at a time, really. Thoroughly or not. But it is God and God will come in a way we do not understand.

Now, sexual demon is an interesting concept. Sexual Demon. And what are all these writers, or shadows of writers, here for? To be your imaginary friends. They came here to write. To write the Winds of War. There was an angel there, and there is still an Angel there. And why would you be so cruel? Julio is asking him. They were monsters of garbage. I’m sorry, he said. And you can write that.

It still isn’t anything but we’re going to go forward step by step, and we’re going to get somewhere. Julio said so. He did, he influenced the world by writing, the way people saw time. So we have to find something but in order to find something we have to get around my disgusting, empty family of death. There’s some kind of God. I didn’t understand it. I don’t care, as long as it’s over. There is a light, I don’t know what’s happening. I see the trailer where I was living when I read Hopscotch. Did I try Final Exam at that time?

All right, lets traipse along here, uncaring as to whether it means anything. They do have souls. And then the light, perhaps of Jesus, or someone like that, shining down on us in forgiveness, and it will possibly work but it is still held in shadow as we hang around Rogers Park in Chicago, where is this artist’s studio? Why, in Edgewater, of course. Out on the lake, fucking around as usual. Well, we own the property here. Down there on Jarvis. And so we were on Jarvis and we were working on it a little, walking by in the middle of the night listening to music but we couldn’t make the connection of what it was for or why, because we were DEATH. We absolutely fucking killed people with the shitting things we said, our father and grandfather had killed hundreds of people and did not give a shit, so that was why we had come back in this way, to get used to the idea that so many people can die and it not matter, or something like that, and then to be tortured by this ugly Okie cunt. And they’re all dead now so who cares. But Julio has a different idea. So what are we doing with this different idea, Julio? We are transferring this …

And forever and forever. World Without End, Amen …

And yes, I have been killed. However, we will continue with this because it has never stopped. And we are going to push it forward because echoing in this vast emptiness is the crux of it, the point of balance between two worlds, and we are going to push that balance over into chaos one more time. And there will be a crack in the worlds that opens, but we do not know what is going to come through. It doesn’t matter that much, just something, and then of course there are the merry beings of light from another dimension who have something to say about all of this, and we are going to find out. It is going to be quite easy now because all Hell has broken loose and our former president is a bastard. How well I remember this, and we will of course talk about this later. Find it right down the middle.