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November 4, 2009


He never slept until 5:00 this afternoon. He said that he was fatigued last night and needed rest, but as I said before he never slept. Do you have any idea how weird it gets in here when he doesn’t sleep like that? Well, of course you do, but you see it from the outside. I see it from in here. You see it when you close your eyes and everything seems to be a rolling rumbling churning swirling cloud of oranges and blues rolling away from you in rapid succession, and all you have to do is open your eyes again and leave me alone to that weird world with strange affects begging you to sleep. Why the hell didn’t he sleep?

His friend caught his illness and says she slept off and on all day, taking the time out on several occasions purge the contents of her stomach until there was only that bitter green an bright green gunk left which I well remember though I have no idea how since I have not existed except since yesterday, and therefore have never been sick a day in my entire life. Incidentally we could have spent time together today since he spent the entire day by himself, but he ignored me. He likes himself but I don’t think he has quite made up his mind about me yet, and the feeling is mutual. You see I have this need, no, it’s more of a requirement not to like him, not to trust him, not to want to be here at all... does that mean after such a wonderful beginning I don’t want to exist any longer?

Another friend of his just called and told him about yet another friend who... how does that figure? He has all the friends and we’re supposed to get together when he is alone and inconsolably so! I don’t think so. I feel like I’m not needed or even wanted. There was a time maybe when I was, but not any longer. Maybe if I prayed to his God He would get him off by himself more, so the three of us can get together more often and just hang out, you know, like regular guys or something.

That brings up a couple of points. Is it permissible for me to even pray to his God? Does He consider me a viable entity to assist? Would He consider his imaginary friend, which is all I am perhaps, though we have been through that just last night and it seems to me I am more than that and to him too, but would his God consider me someone worthy to address Him at all? Then there is the point too of whether I am beneficial to my creator at all and whether I even have any impact on him or anyone else for that matter. Have you told anyone I exist yet? Have you heard of anyone like me out there anywhere? Maybe I’ll try googling myself later. You know just to see if there is anybody out there in some other godlike mind, like the one I am in, which incidentally is not very godlike. Or am I alone, the sole creation of the likeness of the one who considers himself a likeness of God in the stuff of his own life. Where I am the only one in the mind of my creator, he is one of many in his Creator, and my creator doesn’t like the idea of having more than one “persona” if you will running around in his mind duplicating or even creating a whole new personality for him to deal with in that matter. He thinks that he can manufacture any persona he wants quite effectively when he is writing and when even in a pinch he needs to come up with one on a moment’s notice.

The lady he let read his latest novel which he calls WHERE HELL BEGAN came by today and gave it back to him in what appeared was going to be a state of disarray. It was a bit tricky to get the first few pages back in order but when he did he was already hooked and so he read the whole blamed thing in one afternoon instead of spending time with me. Where does he come off anyway? But anyway she’s the nicest lady. Her son is paranoid schizophrenic like my creator is except he probably will never write a novel. They never thought I could either, but when it comes right down to it I don’t think they know what they are talking about. Hey I can write a novel. Hell I have written three, two with more than 200 pages and a third that is about 90 some. Steven King I ain’t but who knows that may come even yet. I am only 58 years old. God am I 58 years old? No, no of course not, as far as I know I am only on my second day. My creator, he’s the one that is that old. I just may never get old. I don’t have to you know.

I have a lot of freedom that way. I can be as old or young as I want, depending on how unreal I dare to be at any given moment. I can jump in and out of time, certainly within the time frame he has lived in. I can exist in fiction. Let him try that! I think he may have tried that once but that is the time he made himself fiction in a fictional environment of his own making that was supposed to function exactly like this environment he is in now—He’s weird you know. He doesn’t even have a TV and never hardly ever listens to the news. Weird—but anyway it was so discombobulated he was technically and practically insane, not like a Christian but like a Moslem perhaps or some other type of person who exists in a fictional setting they seek to impose on reality that isn’t real at all except in the imagination of some would be Messiah of some sort. There now that’s my little soapbox tirade for now okay? But just let me warn you in his behalf. You have to be careful what you expose your critics to. They may just lock you up or at the very least put you on medications for life. That’s their little piece of fiction imposed on reality though. Or... uh... do... I dare say that? Sure I do, I can say just about anything he cares to think. He can’t but I can, I think. Tell me, would I have to go to jail too if he had to go? I would be just as free as I am now, wouldn’t I? Maybe I should try to get him locked up and see if it works or not. Idea!

Good day.