And the picture that follows this sad piece? It's titled "GANGBANGER" although it was never explained why a creature with one giant eye and wings was called that.
This piece may explain to the poor person who had to tell Nicky his account was suspended why this person gave him such a homoerotic rant: "mentally I would never get well".
Thursday, January 24th, 2002
1:30 pm - we all die a little bit
where I am home with my unstable sanity. It is with this journal that I am staring at at times is the only thing from killing myself from time to time because we all die a little bit. Even when we sleep and begin to dream, we all die a little bit. As this would little torment play in the mind, pages that are written reflect the words and dreams which are the human drama -- so much can play out in the imagination and the sanity that would pay with the loss of it. I would only understand them over time as they are written in the pages of a journal that I can study at a later time when it comes time to write out a new peice or a narrative. The pictures so to speak as a conversation peice. In what is written here, that as I would look back from the period in the hospital I can only say that is what would be said from the time I was in the hospital is that even when I look healthy physically -- that mentally I would never get well. Even though I had always My thoughts are the very thing that keep me company at times since it is where in my mind is been spooked to death about hospitals, they had always had their settings in my writing for some way or another. In the words that I would try to find about the dreams as they are in the mind, the thoughts as they are -- the reminders of when we all die a little bit. Within the words of unstable sanity that it would come from the illness within as they stare back at me in the writings. When in the death of a century is when my sanity died with it -- that I stare at a future of going in and out of doctors and medications to keep my sanity intact. The question is where would I be without the writing habit, that would be something I don't want to think about because when I was younger; had a temptation to run with gang members where in the end would lead to the end of me. It had always came down to my mental health as one comes to die a little bit. In pages of journals and letters where they are written, the dreams that had aways been haunting me over time -- that it would come from the fundemental devotion that I had been taught when I was younger; the struggle between faith and madness had always been the fine line between the two. From this I would take from the memories were the graffetti and the spray painted taggings -- the harassment in the halls where it would come down to the battle of the mind. All the laughter inside that I would hear from in the dreams -- all of them looking back at me as it would appear that something was never right, the mental torture. In the emotions that are there -- violent and maleviolent in nature it was always there, but never acted upon them when I got older. But inside would always be that contorted and freakish monster inside which is written in the pages of the mind; pushing and prodding to come out to the open. When I started with the prose -- it was when all the wrath came out in the writing, all the years of mental torment and beatings of the mind would come out to the open. That it would be in the mind when it is written in the books of flesh and blood -- when no one wants to admit they are human beings, that when they would walk among the halls and say they are not human; getting off on the mental torment of those who are different than they are. From in the dreams that are there as when we all sleep -- the reminder of something following us saying we are all dying a little bit, that we are dead already and not see it. Among the insomnia, it would come among the impending thoughts of panic that would come as the next day is faced.