anthropodermic bibliopegy








Journal entry #20:


I’ve begun to wonder if the government has secretly programmed me to kill or be “activated” upon hearing a certain code phrase. To try and figure out this phrase, I’ve been going around saying random groups of words in order to surprise myself into remembering, and to discover the precious truth:

"Skandor Akbar!"

"Venice Beach restoration project!"

"Idols of the mind!"

"Stupid vendor, thrust off thy wares!"


I also heard about this church: “All Is Matter”. I must investigate.


Every day I must perform a ritual which to observers would appear bizarre, the details of which I leave to a later entry. I do it to prevent earthquakes and tidal waves.


These delusions of grandeur, if delusions they be, are wearing me out. I’ve begun to crack under the pressure of being responsible for everything. I can’t juggle absolute power and a love relationship, and I’d like some recognition of that fact, okay?


We could eliminate rudeness just by finding its causes, and they are: sleep deprivation, cars being too small, and food not being authentic.


There are those who find me strange because on my kitchen table I have a finely-bound book of glossy soft-core pornography, all the vaginas of which I have blacked out with a marker. But my therapy must continue: I hate women in order to love myself.







Weighty skulls!

Simian twilight!