((Written on a few crumpled Gein burger wrappers she had stuffed in her pocket. Small and compact letters, written as though Visra had been trying to hide her words.))

I don’t know how this happened. Ain’t like I was begging for some sorta retribution I could enact, but I ain’t been so full of anger in such a fucking long time. First Red – Lynx -…[Read more]

Time has passed and things have changed. Maybe not in the grand scheme of things, nor will things like that ever really change, but change is happening here and now, large enough to be noticed but too small to impact time, night, day or Her.

I went to Michigan to meet with the Second Redhead. She’s become a very good friend. Saint Camille, a…[Read more]

((This entry is written on the backs of many receipts from the Gein.))

The city is singing.

It’s an untrained choir. It’s discordant. It hits every sour note perfectly. It’s harsh and beautiful, and I hate how much I fucking love it. I revel in its dissonance. I’m just going to sit here until the fat lady sings and it’s all fucking over, until…[Read more]

Another dream.

I ain’t used to having dreams. The only two I’ve had in a long while have been this… this meeting. This juncture between myself and the first redhead. A boat, a lake, sky lit with the moon and water so fucking blue it hurt my eyes. Shadows as always, dancing like they ain’t got anything more exciting and important to do. But she…[Read more]

I am jagged.

I keep running my hands over my skin. Smooth, rough, in-between, all part of me, every bit fucked up. It’s suitable. It’s meant to be. But it’s annoying, painful sometimes, especially where the burn didn’t go through enough. Fucking weird how that goes. Where the burn was worst I don’t even feel it because it singed right through my…[Read more]

((Her writing is scribbly here, hard to read and in sharpie marker, but it’s in the lined paper again. It bleeds through but she writes on the back of the paper too anyway.))
It ain’t right the way things go. One second I’m ignorant about shit and just going about trying to survive and the next I know the truth and it hits me like a truck. I wish…[Read more]

((This entry is written on printer paper. It’s labored and Visra was obviously struggling to write legibly. Since there are no lines it’s very messy and the words seem to cascade down the side of the paper.))

I tried to cleanse myself. I tried. I tried. I tried. It was no use. I tried my best. I’m in the hospital. I still feel weird, worse than…[Read more]

The world is changing.

Or I guess it never has, and I’m just learning more. I thought I was done evolving but I’m not. Not even at the beginning of understanding most of anything at all. There’s more, there’ll always be more that I just don’t fucking understand. But I want to. I want to understand so, so fucking badly. I’ve never been that smart…[Read more]

Jail.

It’s not exactly what I expected. Wasn’t asked for my last name. My first is pretty, uh, original and identifying anyway. It’s not even a goddamn word. It was pretty fucking boring there, everything smelled like piss and this random cop kept giving me food like he was trying to fatten me up like I was a pig for the slaughter. Guess he felt…[Read more]

((This entry’s written in green gel pen. It runs out in some spots, so she’s gone over the letters again and again.))

I still pray.

Did you know that? I still hold faith, even after all that they’ve put me through. I should be disgusted at the idea of any sort of religious faith, but you know what? I’m not. I don’t care if it was a fucking cult…[Read more]