So I am watching Martha Stewart and wondering where part of my finger went last night. Yeah, I feel pretty cracked out right now. I was having pretty bad pains in my brain but my hangover is starting to wear off thanks to this awesome coffee (I know I should be drinking water but no worries, the ice will soon melt) so slowly parts of last night missing from my memory are coming back to me. Went to Blood Manor with some friends and, um, someone should take care of that fiction on the website someone wrote. There were no ambulances waiting outside and no actors pretending to be shocked brought out on stretchers as promised. I mean it was what it was, the only creepy thing was the little girl in the dress sitting on the floor holding a knife just staring hard at you as you walked into the room. I kept poking zombie tongues and getting in trouble, “no touching, little girl, or I will touch you.” I kept telling everyone dressed up that they were hot. I was pretty drunk. I guess that’s how I injured myself in the restroom of some bar in the West Village. This morning my finger was throbbing (that’s happened before but for different reasons, ahahahaha) then I went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror and wtf I forgot I did something extreme to my hair yesterday and it took me a second to realize who. I . was.

After Blood Manor we went dancing. Well sort of. By this time I’d had about six jack n cokes and a shot and at the next bar my friend who works there ordered me a drink, I don’t know what it was, I just plowed right into it. I was passing it around to people at the bar. Okay, then I remember my friend’s girlfriend or someone touching my breast. That’s the part that came back to me this morning.

All in all it was hot. Treason went with me. Btw hey you, I’ll be on AIM soon. I have to go now, this is way too hard to do with such a hangover.

Here’s more Demonic.

***MARHOLLOW***

So now I had this girl I didn’t know sitting next to me. She was kind of cute; actually I found her really attractive. I liked the way she was plump in the middle. I liked the frightened doleful sparkle in her eyes. I made her a cigarette at the stoplight just like I promised. She had just picked up a Have A Nice Day napkin from the floor mat.
“Scars on a newborn, we were gone before we ever got here,” she read the words back to me. She sounded like a first time reader at a poetry slam. I felt her eyes on me. “You wrote that?”
“Yer, I guess.” I scratched my sideburns and turned down a dirt road that led to the docks, twisted trees and an old cemetery. Beyond that all that existed was the coast. I could smell the foamy snappy water already.
“You can throw it out or whatever,” I said. I felt vulnerable, I didn’t like it. I wanted to see the wind blow that stupid napkin away, far behind us.
“No, why?”
“I don’t know; keep it if you want to.” I handed her the cigarette I made. “Here.”
“Thanks.” She lit the paper I just licked. It burnt and popped. Her breath shrank it fast. I was back out in the middle of nowhere again. Everything about this suddenly felt right. Me speeding, saying fuck it, leaving the world behind, with this beautifully strange girl next to me, who seemed to despise the world as much as me. Tomorrow was about revenge. Tonight was about getting lost. Things were unraveling just like they should. Nothing was perfect to begin with then it just got shittier, so why not just fucking destroy it all. Now all I needed was some liquor which luckily I had thought to buy earlier in the afternoon. It was warm now, blanketed in a brown paper bag under my seat.
We were so far from everywhere now. I slowed down and listened to the rocks crush under my tires. I drove passed a few swamps where weird shaped trees spurted out like dancing demons from the mossy water. There was a pretty good ghost story to this area. Three years ago, mid-October, a father and his three sons came out to go fishing. He packed a case of beers, got drunk pretty fast and had to go relieve himself. He left his three boys alone. When he came back, they were all gone. The fishing rod was lying in the ground, along with the bucket of melting ice. Three long weeks followed with news coverage, hunting dogs, detectives combing the area for any clues. The next week one body washed to shore. The other two boys were never found. People came up with their own theories. It was the father – that’s the one I believed. Some say they simply drowned and that the other two bodies would have been found had it not been for winter and the river bank freezing up. The latest rumor was a lifeguard a few miles up the coast saw a boy near the water after dark. The boy was alone so the lifeguard decided to approach him and make sure everything was alright. The lifeguard climbed down from his ladder and headed out towards the water when the image of the boy slowly faded into nothing. After that odd occurrence, motels had popped up and long since disintegrated; their roofs rotting and sinking in. A few still barely stood just waiting for someone to come along and put them out of their ugly rotting misery. There were a couple of factories, too, pointless in their abandonment. They looked liked toothless mouths screaming at the sky. I drove a little further, up to the very site where those boys disappeared.