Madness

Ah, sweet madness. They kept telling me you would come. Actually, they said you'd already arrived, but i knew that was a lie. And now a bottle of wine - pinot noir - i must remember to drink lots of water before i sleep, as i hate for this to linger, to begin the next day. I love these purple fuzzy socks. Take pleasure where you can, and answer to no one about it. Let them figure out their own places of mirth and smirks. Ran into a friend at the library today - she's in a similar state, spending most of her time alone, in her apartment, creating films and stories and books by herself, and perhaps for herself. I offered my assistance. Who knows what lunacy will occur if we pool our resources, our intoxicated minds and twisted wishes? Perhaps a masterpiece. Why not? I feel one (at least one) inside me, crawling and tearing at my organs. And yes, certainly i'm arrogant. I never said i was without an ego. Who gives a fuck? I'm working on this script, and though it's sort of a horror story, i've managed to satisfy my particular fetishes and cravings within it. Well, maybe not satisfy, because these fetishes and cravings can't seem to ever be satisfied - but i've given them some sort of place. Let's create a world around everything others call perverse. Seems a good place to start. I've got to finish this script, get it out of my system. And then film it. Put it into everyone else's systems. Let it fester there, see what happens. This wine is good. I love getting wine as a gift. That's mostly because i'm completely broke. Wine and furs and films. My birthday is coming up. I am reminded of this often. Okay, okay. Time is an angry cunt that won't be ignored. I must finish this script, find a producer - someone who understands, and yet has money, or can find it. Where is this person? Come to me, you sick bastard. You sick, rich, beautiful phantom. I have some stories to tell.