Sitting here in my caravan, I heard the sound of Oscar snoring.

I heard the faint hum of the refrigerator.

I hear children running around on the playground outside.

I feel like my senses have been put through a megaphone. Have you ever had such a great idea, that you feel as if the world comes to a stand-still? And you feel like nothing makes sense anymore? How about feeling like you’ve reached a paradigm shift and suddenly your life will never be the same?

That’s the ballpark of where I’ve come.

As I sit here, the world is still revolving, people are still dying, babies are still being born.

Right now, somewhere, someone is having sex.

Right now, somewhere, someone is feeling betrayed.

Right now, somewhere, someone is doing a line of coke.

How often do we stop to think about such things? Not nearly often enough, in my opinion.

How do you know how far you’ve come if you don’t stop to look behind you?

How do you know where you’re going if you don’t stop to see where you’ve come from?

This revelation is so strong to me right now. So strong, in fact, I can’t even bring myself to move from this stained sofa.

I can’t get up.

I can’t get up.

This feeling isn’t strange and foreign to me. I’ve felt it before. Maybe I’m just always destined to be fucked up in the head. The psych ward, the therapy sessions, the medication- nothing is helping like it’s supposed to on a normal person. I’m not fucking normal. And that makes my heart drop an inch, I won’t lie. I’ve realized I’m not who I always thought I would be, and that’s slowly making me angry.

What would it be like?

Would I enjoy being a big breasted, tall, well-rounded bimbo?

What if I was normal?

What if I wasn’t this fucked up in the head?

What if I hated the taste of blood in my mouth?

What if I was a simple tattoo artist? No. Better yet, a stay at home mother… while my husband, the banker went to work at the office, fucking his secretary on his desk just to escape for a moment, the reality of having to come home after his 9 to 5 to the stability he, himself created.

A wife. Children. A home.

I’ve come to the conclusion, long ago… No one is fucking normal. Normal is the abnormality. If you think your life it perfect, you’re only lying to yourself. Probably just your own form of escape. And it makes me fucking sick, and I find it utterly beautiful all at once.

What does one do once they’ve realized that they thrive off of chaos? When killing and torturing have grown boring… when it’s become a job… literally… What does one do?

I guess it’s time to start getting creative…

This city has another thing coming…

[WORDS DRIFT TO SCRIBBLINGS, RANDOM WORDS CAN BE READ SUCH AS: "Hate-Creative-Police-Fucking-Look out- HA ha hA HAhAH HA h ahaha hAHA"]