V journal: I wrote this left-handed on 8/20, under the influence of marijuana.

Hello, this is RSS1. I had a hard childhood. There was a lot of
suffering and I nearly didn't make it. I used to worship girls. They
were so sexy. But now, I don't know; I prefer my own company, the sky
and God.

(From here on, message is typed)

second entry 12: 17 am

I'm pretty high, trying to rock out to Nickelback but all I want to do
is scrap with the grim reaper just one time, that's all it would take.
I've been thinking about a few things. One is that I want to create a
poetry project by assembling corporate logos. Naturally, this would not
be a PG project. I've been wondering if I should take this poetry
writing class. I might be able to create some strings, pull them and
get hooked up so that I can take this poetry writing class in place of
one of my literature requirements. The man to talk to is Bill Ghoulson,
the head of the English department. I'm about to graduate from this
man's program and I've never met him. If I had, I've surely smoked the
memory away by now. Tommorow, I'm driving to Klamath to see the folks.
I think the politics of this situation demand the visit. Yeah, I should
be working and no, I can't afford it but I should do it anyway. The
folks are my financial support and it needs to be shored up. Naturally,
I'm trying to talk myself into doing something that I know is wrong. Or
is it? I can't decide. I'm too dumb. I've been reflecting on the fact
that I am of inferior social status. It's true. It shouldn't be but it
is. I don't have much money, I've never been very popular, very
athletic. It's true that I've tasted some of the better things of life
with my folks. Supposedly I'm their sole heir and they're wealthy. But
I don't believe any of it. Those fucks will outlive me; I guarantee it.
You know, the real truth of this situation is that I don't want to
work. I would be perfectly content with a small stable income so that I
can eat, write, think, play, toke, meditate, whatever. I don't care
about the law of this country. What law? And I don't want to teach
yuppie kids about philosophy or literature. You wanna learn about
philosophy; try putting one bullet in a six-gun, spinning the barrel
and pulling the trigger on yourself. Mangle your face. Make yourself
different, a sufferer, beg in the fields. That's how you learn about
philosophy. Odin's knowledge cost him eye, Jesus' transcendence
required physical torture. I don't believe in capitalism. How can I be
expected to participate in an economic that I don't believe in? I
conscientously object but they don't listen. If I stole a tank and
rampaged on the street like that other Sean Nelson in New York did,
they'd listen. But I raise my hand Ghandi style and they have no
idea.