Tuesday December 11th 2007, 1:32 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters

Dearest One,

Tonight’s conclusion: Fuck you. Oh wait, should I be more philosophical, more poetic for you? Ok, I’ll try– bitch. For whom heaven has cast out, for those where love is no longer life, for that which has seeped through the purest of hearts and the thickest of shields, there is you. You are a black feather on a white dove, a shadow in the valleys of sun, a tarnished stain on the chapel’s walls. DO YOU NOT SEE YOUR OWN DISGUST? Can you not feel the darkness that surrounds you? How can a speck of rust corrode a fine metal? A metal so pure that god herself can see her reflection in its shimmer. Are you a happy demon? Does destruction bring you gratification? Blessed by the horns of Lucifer art thou, and praise thee winged lover of death, as there is no other glorification you shall receive in this journal. The chaos you bring under your tarnished feathers of doom is that which brings my body to its knees. You are the destroyer of goodness; you are the temptation of that which is holy- my being. For your grace, I do not give thee praise, yet I allow you to consume my light, digesting its photons to produce and reproduce darkness – you are the machine which destroys goodness. And yet you call yourself a mortal woman? How can it be, a mortal such as yourself, has the power to convince my love of anything other than its original intention: truth, honesty, joy, laughter and kindness. You make this man, I, a being of light, turn to the shadows. My face cracks and the monster protrudes in your presence. To this day, even at this hour, god’s hour, the thought of you turns this scientist into a lunatic, a maniac of sorts that thrives on death and destruction. You are the poison in the well; you are the vile transformation I have become – a mirror for hate and despair. And yet, you are still my wife, my bond in “holy matrimony” and my official lover. Does this not make sense? Do you see the irony in this dualistic connection? Of course! Everything is coming together now, as the puzzle pieces snap oh so gently into one another. I cannot be the light without your darkness as my shadow. I cannot love without the hate I’ve built for you. The day will not rise if the moon never sets. So set then, you black heart. Fill me with the power to move beyond your void, so that I may shine rays of peace and love to my neighbors. Will you not do me this favor I ask? Can you not accept this truce? I beg of you, die already. Bury your disgrace in a mountain, so that I may rise over the ocean.

-Your Stupid Saint.

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Thursday May 03rd 2007, 11:55 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters

To formal friends,

Oh how my suspicions run high when you tell me things like “I went to the doctors yesterday” or “I’m hanging out with my new friend tonight.” I can’t help but to picture you getting on with your life, replacing your memories of us with with new and possibly better memories. Why did you go to the doctor’s office? Was it a check up? Did you think you were pregnant? You hate the doctors, so why, on this specific occasion, did you feel the need to go? Fuck, I need to let go of this. It’s time to stop these ridiculous tormenting thoughts. Foreboding uncertainties plague me with endless answers. All imagined responses only lead me deeper into the depths of depression. Every time you call and let me know that you are doing well, I sink further into a depressive state of solitude. Los Angeles is beginning to dissipate as a wonderful relief from the hard times I experienced in San Francisco because of your current updates of the fantastic life you are now leading. Fuck you for regenerating so quickly. Even though I have contempt for your happiness, I still feel love for you. Why is this? Why can’t I get away from these lingering nostalgic and warm feelings for you? Am I dwelling on a past that only exists in my head? My logic proceeds to explain to me that you are not my memory of you, as we are not the memories we remember reality to be. History is as fluid and transformative as the imagination can allow. Therefore, you, I, you and I, are only constructs in my head, which consume me as a work of fiction consumes its reader. Our story, told by our memories, is a context and validates itself within the individual. But most fictional stories only relay morals and examples; they are metaphors for instances which can never be fully documented without constraints, rules and frames. In our case, my memories are filtered by my perception, in fact, double filtered from the point of remembering, to the point of recollection of those memories. This sense of post-modern logic brings me further from any sense of truth (the ultimate the ultimate goal of history) and sends me down into the depths of falsity. The only truth to the memories is that they exist as fluid devices of the self, thus creating the formula that ultimately answers with a lie… I’ve lost my train of thought, dear wife, which goes to show that thought and memory are only temporal devices to propagate the human mind further into the universal beast’s mouth– the mouth and belly of history. To deny history its feed or to take away the main curse in which history devours, is to starve and kill reality altogether. Death can’t even escape the jaws of history. The re-appropriation of molecules continue to feed the beast and the beast feeds the moment. And that’s the cyclical nature of time. The moment eats history; history poops out the moment. And the future, well, the future is a cookbook of recipes in which reality has to make, bake, fry, or boil that which is to come.


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Friday April 20th 2007, 3:02 am
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters

To the midnight mania,

It was burlesque Goth night at Miss Kitty’s palace of pleasure. Bjorn invited the whole gang to come out and experience this dark and devious establishment. When we arrived at the palace, which looked nothing like the title suggested, Jon and Arturo pulled out their bag of mushrooms and engorged in a magical trip full of psychotropic wonder. Since I was driving that night, I declined to indulge in the pleasures of hallucination, however my plan was to enjoy the dance floor with a few drinks in me. Inside the palace was a complete surprise to me, considering the walls of the palace; videos of men fucking other men, women sucking men off and women sucking women off filled my visual frame. I couldn’t help but to feel stimulated by such erotic imagery. I began to realize how long it had been since I’ve got laid, and the reasons why I have not, as of late, had that kind of physical pleasure in my life. And of course, I then thought of you. You were to be my eternal source of pleasure, not just physical pleasure, but mental and spiritual pleasure as well. You being my partner, I meant that you were the other half of me that could give me what I needed to continue life as a fulfilled individual. But as we both know, these were mere fantasies of thought when juxtaposed next to the truth and history of our marriage. I wanted your pleasure, yes. However, at the time, I was uncertain about certain things: you wanting to please me, your need for pleasure yourself, the delicate balance between pleasure and comfort and my ability to accept such pleasurable states of being from you. The more I think about our pleasure dynamics, the more curious I get about how blinded by pleasure I must have been to not see these uncertainties as a flaw in our system of love. We were flawed Mindy; I’ll be the first one to admit this fact. But these moments of imperfection were natural and normal; they were to be expected. No system is flawless. However, every system has ways of operation that convert flaws and blemishs into desired beauty marks. These conversions are not easily accessible and individuals have to work out the details of the equations, but once a formula is set, any problem can be solved. Jeez, I sound like the geek that I am. It’s no wonder why you dumped me. And yes, that is how I perceive our break up. You threw me out of the apartment because I wrote a letter that said you are an emotional coward and that I didn’t marry out of love. Those inebriated lies got me kicked out, broken hearted and numb to the world. All senses of pleasure have ceased to exist for me. Not even Ms. Kitty’s palace of pleasure can cheer me up. I am a sad, numb, lonely boy, trying to reestablish some sort of pleasure-factor in my life. And even though my heart is still with you, my mind hates you. Logistically, I’m jealous of your ability to regain your sense of pleasure so quickly after our break up. The unfathomable intrigues me, and therefore I torment myself by answering your calls, questioning what you’ve been up to and how you’ve been feeling. And even though I can predict the general sense of your response to my mundane questions, it still shocks and hurts to hear how well you are doing. As time goes by, I become more lonely and depressed; my pleasure system is malfunctioning, just like the way our marriage malfunctioned– it’s falling apart from the inside out while the seams still stay attached, until the very end, when there’s nothing left inside to hold myself together.

-The seamstress

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Wednesday April 18th 2007, 1:20 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters

To my schizophrenic disgust,

After thinking about my love for you, a wave of frenzy and anxiety grabbed hold of my thoughts and those feelings, once lovely and kind, turned into disgust and jealousy. We spoke on the phone today for approximately forty-five minutes. The spectrum of conversation ranged from family politics to contemporary this-and-that’s. But most notably, we discussed whether or not either of us had been dating. My response to your question was “no” which is the truth for the most part (if I exclude the one instance of oral sex and the kiss from Lola). However, when I asked you the same question, “Have you been seeing anyone?” you gave me a vague reply of “Not really.” You then furthered my suspicions of your lone interests by stating that you still have a hard time being alone, and that this was something you were going to work on. What kind of bullshit statement is that? You know damn well that you’re never going to give solitude a chance to allow yourself the opportunity to contemplate. You spend your time with other people, and fuck them if you have to, so that you can sponge your way through life, never giving the moment a chance to reflect upon itself. If you didn’t have your profession, I’d go as far as saying your mental capabilities for dialectical thought and post-moment consideration are nonexistent because of your infatuation with another person’s presence. The reason you fear loneliness is because you bore yourself with your own monologue. However, your one saving grace is that you have a wonderful cognitive database for veterinary practices, and therefore I know your mind is not always mush. I’m feeling jealous right now because of one phrase you told me over the phone. You said you had been hanging out a lot with your mathematician friend Chris. First of all, he has the same name as me, and therefore I have a prejudice towards him for this reason. Secondly, how dare you replace one Chris for another Chris? Am I a swappable item that needed an update feature? Maybe he has better features than I do, like a nicer nose or a bigger brain. For whatever reason, I don’t like the guy, and I especially don’t like hearing about you not being able to be alone, or about you always hanging with your friend Chris. The quality of our conversation began to decline after you revealed to me your friendship with Chris, as I found myself wanting to get off the phone with you. Although I was superficially pleasant to you when we said our goodbyes, a rage of energy was racing through my body, as I could feel the deeper psychological implications this knowledge had done to me. My first inclination is to go to the liquor store and buy a bottle of sauce to drown my anxiety. However, it is mid-day and I would feel even worse if I chose to enact upon this desire of escapism. Most likely I will go with my second impulse, which is to escape through dreams. I am going to go lie down for a nap to hopefully calm myself down. I hope you and Chris are happy when you are together, and sad when you are apart. Hey, at least it’s better than the reverse of taht statement, which is how you and I exist.

— Anxiety.

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Tuesday January 30th 2007, 11:45 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters,Love Letters

To my Friday night phone call,

I was at work, designing websites for some friends of mine, when you decided to call me. There didnt seem to be any real purpose to your call, except to maybe check in on me to find out whether or not I was behaving myself. You spoke of your mundane life and about how much you disliked your job. They have been making you cover your sick associates schedules because of their lack of techs on the job. You seemed to have such disdain for your current employment situation. I asked you if you planned on staying with your current employer and you told me You dont know me at all. Of course I wont. Ill burn out in six months and quit this job like I always do. I wanted to tell you how I had no job prospects in Los Angeles and how jealous I was that you had a stable source of income. I dont understand how you could want to ruin such a good employment situation especially if you are paying such high rent for our old apartment. I wish I had the knowledge you had in terms of being a vet tech. Your job is an awesome opportunity to make a decent living, while earning desirable wages. However, I bit my tongue, as I have frequently in the past, and didnt delve into a counter argument. I feel as if I have to conceal parts of my thoughts in order to sustain a friendly nature to our relationship. But by hiding my thoughts, I am repressing a part of my being that I find to be one of my best features my wit and immediate comprehension of the surrounding elements of situations. This overt and covert repression negates a part of me that you once immensely loved. We can never go back to our long lost love if I continue to repress my coherence. The good part about this is that you never want to return to the warm loving understanding we once shared, and so you most likely enjoy my vocal repression because it allows you to dominate the dynamics of our current communication. You enjoy having power over your past lovers; I fear that I am allowing you this space to exist within your own enjoyment. Fuck! I guess you can consider me a carnival ride, ready for you to get on and be happy, while my mechanics are breaking down with each and every fare. I hope that someday you will tire of my ride, and will abandon me like how most amusement parks that go out of business. I wish I werent as nice a person as I truly am. I wish I could be an evildoer like some men I come across in my life. If only I could be snobbish and uncivil, discourteous and insolent to you, then you wouldnt feel the need to call me, expecting me to respect you. Oh how I wish my mother never taught me manners; at least then I could feel retribution for the pain and suffering you have caused me. You truly are blind to the torment our break-up has put me through. Im not moving because my friends are in Los Angeles, Im moving because Id kill myself if I had to stay in the same city as you. Ive come to terms with my own self-destruction and in a dramatic maneuver I am trying to propagate my own survival. But these are things I can never tell you in our conversations. I doubt youd listen to my cries anyway.

-Your Friday night answer.

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Monday January 29th 2007, 9:51 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters

To the hickey on your neck,

Dear bitch, Ive made it to Los Angeles! The Phoenix is reborn! But do you care about my reincarnation? Fuck no you dont, you selfish person. Tonight, after my arrival into this vortex of a town, I once again viewed your Myspace account. Low and behold, to my disapproval and contempt, you had posted a photo of yourself with a bright and shinny hickey on your neck. Let me first tell you how disgusted I am by your public display of your scandalous engagements. Why the fuck must you publicize your fallen physical repercussions? Do you find it sexy to narcissistically view your image of shame? Does it please your senses to use the internet as a mirror for your scandals? Why must you embellish your sex life with such vivid documentation? Well, in response to your actions, I can respond to you with a whole-hearted Fuck off! Let me tell you how the last hour of my car ride to Los Angeles went: I couldnt read the exit signs because my eyes were burning from the swelling of tears. I cried for an hour straight; and let me tell you, its no easy task to cry while driving a car full of boxes boxes which represent the turmoil my life is in at this present moment. All I could think about was my own defeat, represented by the loss of your love. However, I felt good emotions towards you, even though I could only criticize my own impotent actions towards our situation. I felt like a looser, someone who doesnt deserve any more chances at neither happiness nor success in life. On several occasions my muscles flinched, contracting my hands, which made me swerve my car. I almost died because of the self-loathing that I could not surpass during that last hour of my drive Once I finally reached my destination, I came to the conclusion that things were going to get better, and that you and I were not a failure, yet an ever-progressing germination of the process of our love and understanding the good times and the horrible times are part of the whole which constitutes our essence. Except I now have a new understanding of our essence, post-hickey photo: you are a hateful person and a fallen woman who doesnt have the decency to be monogamist, or to seve me with divorce papers before you go and make out (or make-love) to other people. Again, my rage and hate for your being has swelled and I can only think about how much I loath your existence. On the other side of all this, I am now currently 400 miles away from you and no longer have to be in your physical presence. The streets out front are not the streets of San Francisco, which I would be wandering right now if I were there. Instead, I have good friends around me and therefore I am going to work through this rage in a healthy manner. Furthermore, Id like to remind you of your lascivious yet fallen ways, by continuing to write to you as I have in the past.

-The rage inside me.

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Tuesday January 23rd 2007, 12:33 pm
Filed under: Hate Letters,Love Letters

To your ex-fianc vicariously through you.

In our previous conversation, I questioned whether or not I would see the security deposit for our old apartment safely returned to my bank account. Your response was quick, saying Maybe, if you stop squirting my friends with squirt guns. To this, I countered your request with a bowed head and a devious smile. And even though I have no plans to blast your friends with my water guns, the thought of spraying all your friends whom I loathed brought pleasure to my mind. You then told me that if I had squirted your ex-fianc Justin at his work, he would have jumped over the counter and kicked my ass. HA! That piece of shit dweeb you call a lover? He couldnt get near enough to my ass to pat it, let alone destroy it. If he ever tried to be violent or physical with me, Id destroy every living essence in his self-loathing body. This wisp of a man you call your best friend has been an enemy of mine ever since he and I met each other in San Jose. Our first introductions were quaint, yet developed underlying tones of jealousy and aggression: his words to you when he found out about our marriage was Ill help you sign the divorce papers. Fuck him for such terrible benedictions. After you and I separated, he was the first person you fucked. Fuck you for that. And now, the man-child feels the need to affirm his manliness by convincing you of his reactive predictions toward me squirting him with a squirt gun. And worse, you believe in his power over me. I suppose this shows how powerless you are in Justins disturbingly grotesque web. Justin is a hack of a human, designed to pity himself for eternity, and you give him the pity he cries for. Why? Doesnt his disgusting abhorrence get old after awhile? The only credit I will give the boy is that he is a talented musician. But besides his musical talents, he has nothing going for him. His wit is acute, but only wrestles with its own self-loathing to ever amount to genius. His physical features remind me of a twig with spectacles, and his prospects for a progressive future are shallow and vain. The man is a callow individual that I would never want as a friend. Theres a lot to say about a person by definition through the caliber of his enemies. Therefore, Id be doing myself a favor not to hold this grudge towards such a lousy opponent. It is undignified to hate one who has no dignity. However, let me state this as clearly as possible: if Justin ever tried to lay a finger on me, he would experience a pain so unholy, hell have to have an exorcism performed on his remains just so he could have a proper Catholic burial. Sometimes I wish for such an opportunity to unleash my demons into this physical world through physical violence. However, I usually find other avenues to fulfill these evil thoughts into physical fruitions. So, if you would dear wife, let your best friend know that if he were to reach over the counter to countervail my squirt, he would regret his ever meeting me so many months ago. I thank you for relaying this honest message.

(p.s. in retrospect to re-reading this letter, I do not wish any harm to you or your friend. this letter was an outlet for my anger at the time when I wrote it.)

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Sunday October 22nd 2006, 6:56 am
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters,Love Letters

To the Good,

Yesterday I came over to your apartment so that I could sign over the pink slip to the car, as well as borrow the car for the evening. I had to move my things from San Francisco. We were quite pleasant with one another, which wasnt surprising. Theres a large part of me that wants to be your friend, as you can tell by how eager I am to have a decent conversation with you. I want to hug you, hold you physically like the way I hold you in my heart. Our cat was very friendly with me, however I doubt she remembers that I was the one who cuddled and loved her as a kitten. Your Apartment looks wonderful, and I can only hope that someday I will land on my feet like you have. Your new haircut looked nice, but was cut pretty short for my tastes. However, when I first met you, your hair was three times shorter than it is now, and I still found a way to fall in love with you. We talked about the security deposit and said you would try to pay me back if I stopped shooting your friends with squirt guns. I laughed over this sardonic comment, but you didnt think it was very funny. We shared a brief hug on my arrival to the apartment, but didnt even wave goodbye on my departure.

To the Evil,

Theres a part of me that wants nothing to do with you. I want to cut you loose and never cross your path again. When I become nostalgic for your affection, I immediately and subsequently fill with anger, passionately wishing for your demise. I dont want you to be so content with your life. Your new Apartment articles make me jealous of your new life. Theres no way I can cope with these raw guttural emotions that swell when Im in your presence. I have to bite my lip and continue on with logistical (un)developments in our marriage. You said you would pay for the divorce papers because I am too poor to pay for them myself. Youre so adamant on our separation. Fucking take it easy. Im fragile still, unlike you and your hardened outer core. And I know youre fucking new men these days, which only makes me sad because I havent fucked anyone since you. The Apartment has become totally yours, which pisses me off because my name is still on the lease. I dont think I will give you my new address in Los Angeles, just so you wont be able to send me the divorce papers. Itd be nice to fuck with you for a while, at least until I get on my feet and find a job. Just to spite you, I wont fail when I return to Los Angeles.

-My Ego

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Friday October 20th 2006, 4:40 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters

Fuck you.

I called you today and you told me you would call me back because you were doing stuff. You sounded so guilty. What exactly were you doing? And whom were you doing it with? Why the fuck did you even answer the phone if you were busy doing stuff. Maybe you were on drugs with your friends? Who knows? All I know is that I wanted to borrow the car so that I could take some boxes to Sacramento today, and youre too busy doing something to appreciate me trying to get my life together. Even though moving boxes isnt really me getting my life together, considering that I just woke up, have a hangover and have to clean the mess I made in my room last night. I came home plastered. After work last night I stepped into the local bar around the corner from Roberts house. Betty, the beautiful bar tender, who doubles as a mother, was working last night. I sat down at the bar and told Betty, I have nine dollars. Get me as drunk as you can for that. She looked at me and laughed, grabbing the Jamison and Baileys from the shelf. She mixed together two shots of her delicious concoction and poured me a Stella back. I offered to pay her the 9 dollars but she refused my monetary trade. I was surprised by her generositymost bars and bartenders arent as kind as Betty. Its too bad she was double my age (I think her daughter is my age); Otherwise I would try to date the woman. Its a shame that kindness and alcohol can lead to sexual desire. This is why so many female bartenders get hit on. If they smile back at a drunk patron, they are immediately seen as a sex object. When Betty closed the bar, she and I walked across the street to another bar to see if it was open if so we were going to share a drink together. But the bar was closed and so Betty and I parted ways. I didnt need another drink anyway. I stumbled home, barely making it to the front door. In fact I slammed my head on the front door while trying to get the key to fit in the hole. The stairway seemed taller than ever as I cautiously maneuvered from step to step. When I made it down the stairs, I let out a sigh of relief into the hallway by my bedroom, I was almost there, I thought. When I stepped inside my bedroom, I put down my backpack and stumbled into the window, knocking over a drum and a cup of change I had been collecting. I crashed into the blinds, which made a loud noise, and fell over onto the floor. After this fall I crawled to my bed to pass out. And this is why I have clean my room today. Whatever. This doesnt diminish the fact that youre I dont have any good thoughts about you right now. Dont be ambiguous with me over the phone. It just makes me hurt even more.

-Fuck You.

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Wednesday October 18th 2006, 6:57 am
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters

To Saturday,

With a thumping chest and trembling hands, I got the nerve to call you. Surprisingly you answered the phone (I hoped that you would just let the voicemail pick up). Your hello was pleasant, as was mine. I told you of my plans for leaving San Francisco in exactly one week and you responded with a shocking for Good?! Yes, for good I stated. I then went into the reason for calling you. I want some of my movies back as well as my coffee maker. There are a few documentaries on artists that I wish to take with me to Los Angeles, and well, you bought a new coffee maker, so you wont need my old one. I told you that Monday would be a good day to meet up, half expecting you to schedule a chaperone for our encounter. I still sensed a bit of animosity in you, but I didnt react towards your tone of voice. You told me that Monday afternoon would tentatively be a good time for you, and that we could meet up for coffee. I joked about meeting in the morning at 8 AM, and you responded with a Lets make it 6 AM. I countered your sarcasm with we could catch a sun-rise, and you replied, Fuck that! However, by the tone in your voice, I can only assume what you really meant to say was fuck you. You havent given the car to Justins parents yet because you wanted to run it through a car wash first. I doubt you will ever get rid of that car. It reminds you of Justins grandfather, and thus the Love you had for Justin and his family. I think its safe to say youre attached to that motor vehicle. Its too bad my name is still on the pink slip, but Im sure well take care of that on Monday. Besides the pre-phone call emotions, our conversation was banal and mundane. You and I dont make jokes or laugh together. Its sad for me to analyze our conversations to the point of banality, but its the honest truth. You told me you went to San Jose yesterday, but didnt explain why. Most likely you were visiting your Love, Justin. Maybe you two were made for each other? After all, you two have a lot in common. You both are content with normality and banality. And you both now have a common enemy. Justin and you were together for almost five years. You were engaged for six months before you convinced him to break up with you. Then, when you and I developed into the love we had, Justin waned in the shadows of jealousy, hoping you and I were doomed to perish. Well, it looks like things have finally worked in his favor. You and I are a dead memory while you and Justin are now rekindled lovers. I remember the first time I met Justin. I didnt like his curt attitude towards you and me. Hes actually a prick. But, its your life, and your decision. Its your decision who you love and who you dont love. I knew he would return in your life as a lover. I just knew it. Because of this he has never been a friend to me. I really dislike that manyour best friend, your new-old lover.


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Monday October 16th 2006, 2:30 am
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters

To the Time Developing,

Its been some time since we last spoke maybe a week or so. This may be because the last words you said to me were Call me later this week, to which I replied, Sure. I havent fulfilled my part of the deal, with good cause. I am too frightened to inquire into what youve been up to lately. Anxiety swells in me when I contemplate asking you simple questions such as How has your week been? or What are your plans for the weekend? With you I am a failure at small talk. I think my fear of your response is validated, not because of the specific answers youll give to my questions, but by the way in which those answers will be spoken. I know youll have a soothing tone in the gesture of your voice when you tell me of your mundane plans. Youll nonchalantly describe some banal existence. Like anything you plan to do, whether its going to San Jose, or hanging out in the Apartment, or having sex with a robot monkey is an acceptable plan. You wont ask my opinionyou need no input from me. You dont contemplate how your responses will affect me, and you sure as hell wont want to include me in any of your plans. Maybe Im jealous of your smooth-sailing-Im-gonna-be-OK plans because my plans seem so turbulent. Its likely my fear of talking to you is a fear of repression. I dont want to have to be a “yes-man” to anyone, especially not you. I can imagine your reaction to these thoughts Im having. Youd tell me to go fuck myself, that its not my responsibility to care about your plans, that I dont have a say in anything that goes on in your life. This all may be true. But why would you ask me to call you later in the week if you dont care to respond to me as a caring human being? It seems you want to keep a superficial connection with me, not because you honestly care about me, but rather to check up on me to see if Ive any plans to harm you in the future. Your fear makes you say things like Call me later in the week. And since Im afraid of someone who fears me, that puts us in a peculiar position, doesnt it? Maybe if I dont call you, youll realize the absurdity of you asking me to call, and we can sweep the whole calling each other thing under the rug like we swept up our marriage. Which reminds me, you switched your wedding ring from your wedding finger to your right hands 4th finger around the time you realized you were no longer in Love with me. This switch occurred three days before you found that letter on my computer (which made you take the ring off entirely). Why did you switch fingers so quickly? Everything happened so quickly for you. Our marriage and love was over in a week. Subsequently one week later, you asked me to move out of the Apartment. Everything was swept neatly under the rug for you. Hell, if you didnt tell anyone, no one would even know were still married. I wonder if you use me as an excuse to push away men after youre done fucking them? You can sweep them under the rug just as easily as you did our love. But sooner or later, youre going to have to vacuum the broken pieces of their hearts from under that rug, and we all know how much you hate to clean that apartment.

— Space-Time-Ego-Thing.

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Tuesday September 26th 2006, 7:06 am
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters


You are not the woman I knew (or thought I knew) a long time ago. Something drastic has changed inside you. In fact, Id say that the moment you became unhappy with our love, bored of it even, is when you changed into a completely different person. You no longer like to take risks. Youre getting comfortable in your ways, which has killed the amazing spirit you once had. Think about this. When we first met, you had a sense of humor, a sense of adventure. You longed for Love and would do anything to obtain happiness. This was the woman I fell in love with a passionate girl with nothing to lose and everything to gain. Your essence radiated with compassion and gentle thoughts. When we spoke over the phone, you had an interest in life that made my heart flutter with delight. I became totally devoted to the idea of your child-like passion for love and beauty. Conversations with you were never boring because you and I would imagine a world together that we would someday create. You were a seven-year old scientist and I was to be your lab assistant. There was nothing to stand in the way of our radiant laughter. It was especially exciting to hear you laugh about the obnoxious qualities of life, which you would change if you had your way. But now, when I speak with you on the phone, you sound drab and dreary. You no longer laugh with me, and the things you use to find humorous just plainly annoy you. The light has dimmed inside of you and all that is left are macabre, sardonic, unpleasant and rude ideas. The vast imaginative woman I once knew has concreted into the sad and depressive consumer. You use to never like to rent movies from Blockbuster because you thought they censored their films, plus they were a giant corporation, which you couldnt stand. Now, you go there almost every night. What happened to you? You use to write nasty letters to pharmaceutical companies because they continually test their death products on helpless animals. Now, you shop at Safeway and take medication for your illnesses. The girl I fell in love with would have kicked your ass if she met you now. How is it that youve locked yourself in your comfortable little cage when you use to be the cage-less bird- the free spirit of love? You could fly anywhere without attachments to the material world. And now, you cling to your apartment like a snail in its shell. I almost feel partially responsible for making your apartment so comfortable. I left the TV, speakers, dresser, coffee maker, DVD player, movies, etc. for you because I didnt have any attachments to those possessions. But, you could have gotten rid of any of those possessions at any time, (which you still may do, only to replace them with similar items which have no emotional attachments to our long lost relationship). I guess, what Im trying to get at is that Im disappointed in you. You had such a promise of being a child forever. I truly believed you would obtain an eternal love that would allow you to never grow old. I doubt you will ever achieve what I once thought possible. My only advice, dear Love, is to make the best of your time, and learn to laugh once again.

In all sincerity,


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Saturday September 16th 2006, 2:04 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters,Love Letters

My enemy,

There is a vacillation of emotion today: first I skip to the beat of a new song, as if the Angels themselves were banging on their war drums. Secondly, I pause in the moments between songs to mourn for the loss of my fallen brethren. However, when the call to war sounds again, Im back to my post as a happy pawn in the gods wartime musical. Few follow in the Angels footsteps, and the path to triumphant victory seems solemn and only large enough for one body to pass at a time. Single-file lines of separate conscious states build the hierarchy of my march. My mind has psychologically chiseled into an army of warriors, all lined up with their individual special traits, as well as all their hidden weaknesses. Im shielded by my egos protection, a primordial force field of strength and power. My vision is omnipotent through my loves all-seeing floating eyes. I can shoot words of wisdom from my mouths projective presence, or I can blast my enemy with twirling paradoxes and whirling dialectics. With the slightest gesture, I can penetrate my enemys defenses using the pen as my weapon of choice. But what I enjoy most is a subversive offense through song and dance. Like the pied piper I cozy up to you my antagonist, with verses of prose, sung loud if need be, or sung soft and gentle like a mothers sweet songs to her baby lamb. And when I am close enough to strike thee, dear enemy, I can use my fear to my advantage and show you the inner depths of what scares me, causing confusion and chaos amongst your warriors, reflecting upon what it is to be a product of such fear. I am the mirror of your warriors inner struggles. When my fears become their fears through pure projection and self-realization, your men will fall to their knees in empathetic terror. With their hands to their sides, I can breath words of compassion into the air, words so gentle and soothing that the angels themselves will stop beating their drums long enough to listen to my lonely destructive lexicon of death. And for those rebels who are especially deflective of my attack, I will strike those renegades down with the softness of my lips, a kiss for each and every enemy who defies the Angels calling. And what will you do then, my dearest general? What sorts of political means will you use to save your own precious life? As I drop my defenses and lower my ego, you will see me unarmed, nude, and crying, for I know the end is drawing near. You see theres no use for a warrior without war. And when man no longer can attack other men, man will eventually attack himself. Therefore, I deliver to you a treaty of peace, until the next time the Angels decide to call upon us to wage war amongst ourselves. Neither you nor I will disagree to this truce because after all, narcissism is the only reason we follow the Angels decree in the first place.

-Your ally.

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Tuesday September 05th 2006, 11:03 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters

To the trickster,

Ive figured out why you were so kind to me over the phone: you want to kill me with kindness. Youve figured out the formula of how to destroy your enemy the socially acceptable way. Your post-hysterical euphoria, which I mistook for a docile and authentic approach to caring, was nothing more than an attempt to destroy the monster within me using nice, kind communication devices. Your intentions are as transparent as your see-through shirts. You are Moloch, the devious mother who cleverly disguises its ferocious mouth full of razor sharp teeth as a puckered lip full of lovely kisses. Though I wont be fooled by your death kisses of kindness, I will call you out from the shadows and into the light of truth. You will not seduce me with your kindness dear woman. Ive met your type before: Ive been your type in the past. This is how I came to realize your machination all I had to do was look into myself and there you are. You, mother of madness, are the hideous creature of pure disgust. With no sympathy for your own kind, with no heritage to be proud of, you stand alone in the depths of the underworld waiting to strike at the most innocent of creatures. You are a true beast, an absolute aberration, a beast that cares nothing of children, or of being a child for that matter. I once asked you what you wanted to be when you grew up. You replied, Now thats a trick question, Christopher. I never want to grow up. I fell for your response at the time, but have now come to realize, you cant grow up if youre already grown. You have grown into your beast-like form, a killer of love and kindness. The way in which you kill is the most devious and odious of methods possible. You target those who are weak and not ready for anything else other than kindness. Then you pour your wicked words out from your jaws like a witch pouring a potion intended for immediate death; however your wickedness is masked by the sweet smell of laughter, and the scent of a warm heart, thus luring your prey towards you by convincing them you are a gentle lover. When your unsuspecting victim draws near to your open jaws, which by the way is also the same moment you bore of your prey, you leap from the shadows and clench down your muzzle on the throat of your entranced kill. You always aim for the jugular, knowing that one pierce of your victims neck will leave the delicious taste of its freshly squeezed blood in your mouth. The streets flow with the preys incarnadine insides as you devour any lover, any child, any monster, the way one would its most mortal of enemies. You have no friends because youve (sexually) devoured them all, as you spit out their flesh far into the rapid wastelands of this world.

-Your prey.

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Wednesday August 30th 2006, 8:40 am
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters

My My,

I just saw a horrific ghost (twice)! Im sure you can guess what earthly form this specter tookIt was you. My dear lost love! You were walking down Church Street towards your favorite place to rent movies. I happened to be returning a couple of movies when, unbeknownst to me, you appeared on the street. Now, I know better than to taunt an angry ghost when I dont have my special ghost-zapping apparatus on me, so I played it cool, looked the other way, and rode off into the sunset. My pulse was racing and my heart was beating through my emaciated chest. What would have happened if I provoked you and said hello? Would you have literally kicked my ass like you promised to do not too long ago? Maybe you wouldnt even have acknowledged me, as we all know its difficult to make contact with the spirit world. Even though all my instincts tell me to leave well enough alone, to leave you alone, theres a part of me that wants to ride back to the movie rental store and try to make contact with you. However, I think Ill just write about this brief visual encounter instead of making any drastic actions that could lead to my own arrest. I want to think you were bluffing on the phone, but these actions will remain thoughts just in case you werent. You were so angry with me; I could feel your energy though the telephone itself. But on Church Street just now, you seemed like your docile quiet self. Im sure contact with me would have filled you with anger and adrenaline. These are two very terrible chemicals for you. Im not trying to ruin your life, as you suppose I am, however until I leave this city, there might be a couple more encounters between you and I. You can be sure that if and when we do meet, you will only be experiencing my physical form because my mind has long ago left these lands. Thats not to say Im crazy, but what I mean is that you no longer get the privilege of my kindness and mental equity. If we share words, they will be logistical instructions as how to make this official divorce function easier for both parties. Even though the visual sight of you still stimulates my nerves, rest assured that you will never stimulate my heart anymore than its already beaten and battered state. I know you think youve stricken fear into my heart, but you havent. I am intrepid towards your critique. The only one I fear is myself, and thats only because I havent laughed in a long while. Though it was nice to see your ghost, it would have been nicer if you had seen the ghost of my heart, my kindness. You only focus on the bad times, the fearful times. Well Love, my fearful times have been the most rewarding instances in the past. Marrying you, for example, struck fear in the deepest sections of my heart, but I still enjoyed the experience, even though I regret the outcome of our home-building project.

With ghost like thoughts,


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Wednesday August 16th 2006, 10:01 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters

I made an executive decision tonight. Ive decided to quit using Friendster and Myspace. You and I started communicating on Friendster in August 2005. It seems like ages ago, but I remember that first inquisitive message you wrote to me. It said you seem interesting, tell me about yourself ?. And so I replied with a little autobiography, with hopes that I would meet you someday. Its amazing how quickly our relationship developed using technology as the medium for our conversation. But the immediacy of our relationship proved to be the downfall of our love. We were halfway to marriage after our second conversation. We gave each other all we could in those initial moments of our bond. But we had to, in all actuality, because we were living in separate cities. We depended on the Internet to weave together the fabric of our love. But that fabric soon began to untie itself when we were in the settled position of marriage. I remember regretting buying you your birthday present during the initial stage of our breakup. The computer you were using, my gift to you, became the enemy of our marriage. In the heated passion of my rage, I wanted to smash your computer in the middle of the street. I wanted to kill that which was killing me. I almost became the monster I wanted to destroy so passionately. But, I denied myself that release. Even now, you use your computer daily to meet new people, to converse with your friends, to plan romantic encounters with your new bed buddies. But we all know just how transparent virtual self is; we all know how transparent the physical self is as well. Thats why you make a good partner to the technology you claim to hate so dearly. You align yourself with your projected virtual image, thus negating any real substance. I always thought it was funny how you try to connect with the underworld through your Myspace account. But in all actuality, youre a spoiled princess who is revolting against your absent father, sans morals or substance. You are a wisp of an intellectual who claims to be a social chameleon. If it werent for your physical looks and your tendency to be a freak in bed, youd have nothing characteristically to offer anyone. You use other peoples hard earned philosophies to propel yourself from one person to the next. And this, my wife, is your virtual physical life. However, I digress. My point in all this is that Im sick of this transparent meta-self I project online, I need to ground myself as well as my thoughts. Therefore, as of tomorrow, I will have nothing to do with those virtual avatar systems known as Friendster and Myspace.


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Tuesday August 15th 2006, 12:40 am
Filed under: Hate Letters,Love Letters

Mrs. Buhl,

Quicksilver tells me to get over it. Get a grip, he says. Bjorn offers suggestions for distractions. Do some jumping jacks, play violin, run around naked, she tells me. Mary says that shes been there, that things will get better with time. Wow, she really had that much affect on you? mary asks surprisingly. Morgan, my friend in Arizona, told me Im young and beautiful. Youll get over her, you have your whole life in front of you, she optimistically said. Maria, my friend from work sympathizes with my psychosis, but still says, youll work your way through this. My mother tells me I have too much to offer to worry about one girl. You have so much to give the world, dont be sad about that. My bother, whose girlfriend just left him, empathizes with me by telling me yeah, that sucks man. Boomer, my friend from Chico, tells me to keep a strong head. He says, Player, stay strong. Kaity, my ex-girlfriend form high school tells me, youre so special. Why let one just ruin that? Alexia, my best girl-friend tells me how hideous you are. Mindys way too skinny and ugly for you. Josephine from Los Angeles keeps reminding me how loved I am by all my friends in there. We love and miss you Mister, she says. Corey, my most inspirational Artist friend, who thinks in terms of tangents and trajectories, continues to boast about the good times. Wha-hoo! he shouts over the phone to me. My father, whos been through a few divorces, tells me about the pain it caused him, but how theres light at the end of the tunnel. For a few months, you fell like the world is ending. You fell like youre dying. And then, all of the sudden, its over, and you wonder what you ever saw in the girl. Phil, my cousin in Glendale, reminds me that weve all been fucked over by someone, and how it doesnt really ever get any easier. You just have to learn to cope with it, he says. Even you, my dear wife, have offered me advise as how to deal with this situation. Stop self-loathing. Get over it. Move on. With all these words of advice, one would suspect Id be doing better than I am right now. However, I dont think there are any words that can stop the pain from inside me. None.

Mr. Donham

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Monday August 14th 2006, 10:42 am
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters

Ms. Ran-Away Buhl,

I’m alone, again, like always, thinking about your friends here in the city. I can’t say I’m jealous of your friends, specifically, because I don’t actually like any of them. They were always so insincere to me, except maybe Justin, which is why I dislike him even more than the rest. I know it was you who jumped him after your drunken game of chess (I can’t see him having the balls to make the first move), but still, there’s the matter of common decency that Justin should have respected. Clearly the fucker can care less about me, but when we talked in the past, he had an earnestness that I appreciated. Silly me for being such a terrible judge of character. I guess that goes for you too. I misjudged your character Mindy. I thought you actually had a caring heart, a compassionate center for those who try to do right. I tried, I tried to love you so much. Maybe I was trying too hard, but should I be punished for such conviction? I find your nature abhorrent. You are someone I use to love, someone I would have given my life for, someone I did give my life for, and now, you are a heartless beast, a mindless monster, which makes me feel nauseous when I picture you in my head. It’s a shame I picture you so often, otherwise I might not feel so sick all the time. You tried to make me feel so guilty for having a place to go after our breakup, but you have no idea how alone I am. I have NO ONE to hold me at night, no one to reinforce my sanity, no one to ground me. I have no one here to help me; plus I can’t afford therapy from a professional. So what’s a boy like me to do? How am I going to survive on my own? If only you could have tried to work through all this, instead of kicking me out, sentencing me to walk this terrible and treacherous road alone.


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Friday August 11th 2006, 8:07 am
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters,Love Letters


I cant say that Im trying to get better because I dont know the steps to healing this dementia. I want to get better, not to show you my improvement or to prove Im a healthy person, but because I dont want to die, not yet at least. My brain feels like it is shutting down, even when Im wide-awake. The immediate space around me feels miles and miles away. Im drinking coffee to see if I can wake my brain up, but I doubt any amount of caffeine can pull me back to reality. There must be a way to renew my connection with the world around me. What I am feeling is the consequence of an overloaded limbic system. Its almost as if my brain is fried from too much stimulus. I short-circuited a chip on my motherboard. Maybe this is what a lobotomy feels like? I have nothing in common with the regulars in this coffee shop. How can I make friends when my brain wont allow me to a) communicate with others b) feel anything c) think of other things than my own sorrow and despair and, most importantly, d) get over the dementia. I coddle myself at night. I tell myself that Ill be all right, that I made it another day, which is progressive to say the least. Ive become my own best friend. You have Justin, your fuck buddy, and I have myself. I remember you asked me if I had someone comfortable to go back to, someone to fuck, and I said no. No, I dont have that. I only have my fucked up thoughts and myself. So now whos the lucky one, the one with people to catch you when you fall? Youve won. Go revel in it like the little brat youve become. Im so lost. I dont know where to go, where to turn to for help. I dont want to take this medication anymore. It makes me feel strange, worse than how Id feel without it.



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Thursday August 10th 2006, 8:49 am
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters


I feel ill. My stomach burns and my head is spinning. I cant tell whether or not these terrible feelings are from not eating or from my psychosis. This depression is devastating. When I see my reflection in the mirror, Im shocked at who Ive become. My face has become a wretched site as I cannot smile and I cannot look excited about life. Ive been drained of something lovely. I am the antithesis of Love. How can I expect to get my life back together when I look the way I do? My eyes are swollen and empty. My cheekbones press firmly against my skin. I lose myself when I stare into the void that is my essence. Where did Chris go? I wonder. Outside seems scary to me. Its hard for me to leave the house. Maybe Im terrified of all the possibilities of death that waits for me outside. When I step outside for a smoke, I tremble with fear. This is in such stark contrast to how well I was doing a week ago. All I want to do is lay in bed with the covers over my head. But even when I do that I feel dizzy and deserted. Im feeling so self-destructive today. I think its best for me not to go anywhere. Fuck, I can barely get out of this chair in which Im sitting, let alone leave the house. Im hoping these destitute feelings will dissipate eventually. I need a friend to come over and hug me. At least you have that. All of your friends would gladly hug you; they would gladly fuck you too. Hell, what are friends for if not a good fuck? Im hurting so badly right now. Numbness would be a blessing. I think I am going to try to lie down for a while. Hopefully my stomach will stop burning by the time I get back up. I feel disconnected from my body. My feet seem so far way from my thoughts that I practically dont even own them. These are such dark times for me. Even though the sun is shining so vividly I do not see its light. You have no idea how hard this is for me. I doubt youll ever know.


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Tuesday August 08th 2006, 11:53 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters


You just dont know, and you just dont care. The pain and torment eat away at my thoughts. I have become a masochistic carnivore and I dont know how to feed this beast, besides by letting it destroy me. There were moments when I thought I had this monster tamed. Laughter and dance have always been able to turn the most hideous of creatures into the most docile of pets but not anymore. Deeper and deeper I travel into the depths of its belly without any chance or hope or rescue. The irony of my own demise is that I will slay the monster with one last breath of air. Its a gift that I will give myself, the power to kill the beast that is killing me. But there will be no reciprocation to this final and most secret of presents. But, what do you care anyway? Why should you care? After all, you stopped caring for me a long time ago. Your life will go on, as it always has, while my life will end. Its sad to think of my own death, but I know no other options. Sadness is a temporal emotion, and will go away in Time. However, I will not bring myself to this task just yet. After all, I still have the life in me to endure this suffering; otherwise I wouldnt be here, in this coffee shop, writing to you. You are most likely at work today, helping poor animals, laughing with your co-workers. Im jealous of you Mindy. But youll never hear those words from my mouth (ever again). When you get home tonight, who will be sleeping in your bed dear wife? It doesnt matter to me anymore. Sleep with whomever you want; you could perform the most explicit acts in our apartment and it wouldnt matter. You are lost to me, a ghost in my mind. The destruction of myself has nothing to do with you anymore. This pain is my pain; this torment is my torment. But like I said, you just dont know. Youll never know.



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Tuesday August 08th 2006, 9:29 am
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters


I awoke shivering and tremulous, my hands could hardly function. Last night I went to sleep as early as I could. I didnt trust myself to be anywhere but in bed. That picture is burned on the back of my retinas. Even when I close my eyes, it shines vividly, as if I were forced to watch the most horrific of movies all night. I had no rest last night. The more I thought of it, the more pain I was in. And there was no off-button in this ordeal. I couldnt stop it I could only masochistically suffer. Why does your image bother me so much? I feel like Ive relapsed back into the first moments of our break up. The whole architecture of my sanity has collapsed beneath me once again. When you told me you fucked Justin, that didnt nearly affect me as much as those photos of you online. I wonder if it has something to do with the public nature of your display. Possibly, I feel that those photos should have stayed private, and especially out of my minds eye. The power of a photo is merciless. Fuck, Im an artist; I should have known this from the beginning. We humans understand the world as an image. From Television to movies to billiards to (most of all) the Internet, the world has flattened into a virtual screen of drying cement. But Im sick of re-learning who you are through photos and bios. Im quitting Myspace and Friendster. The temptation to look at you is too great, and it only causes me more pain and misery. You, are the cause of my instability. But Im also sick of blaming you for shit that I can control. So, Ill work on getting myself out of this insane position, while youll keep doing what youre doing without caring at all about me. Fuck you. Youre not the woman I married. Soon your powers will be have no effect on me, as mine are defenseless against you.

With insane thoughts,


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Monday August 07th 2006, 2:34 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters

To the worst part of my day: Yes you.

How can I describe the suffering your images have caused me today? I was planning on having a nice day, one without anxiety, fear, cold sweats, chills, and above all, without my heart breaking into a million different pieces. You bitch, you cheating bitch. I know, its not my responsibility anymore to care about you, to think in terms of us, but how could you post such horrific displays of coldness? You and your fuck buddy Konane can eat shit and die. When I saw the pictures you posted online, a wave of numbness surged through my body. I went into shock. To see your legs spread over his, to know what you two must have indulged in, you dirty fuckers. How could you do that, and then display those photos publicly? Are you trying to kill me? Do you not care at all that I am suffering over this? I couldnt feel my body for two hours after seeing those pictures. I didnt know what to do, so I rode my bike to the park. Have you ever tried to ride a bike while crying; have you ever tried to bike when you cant even feel your own body? I didnt care about cars, life or death. You did this to me today. Ive made my first appointment with the therapist I cant afford. Im lost because I have lost. And you wrote to me today asking, I thought you were doing OK, what happened? Ill tell you what happened: You happened. And I never thought Id say this, but I wish you hadnt. I wish I never met you. Youve ruined something beautiful in me, and you didnt have to lift a finger. I am shocked by your ruthless bratty behavior. You must know what youre doing to me. You must know how this is killing me. And if you dont, shame on you! Shame on you anyways for posting those pictures, for everything youve done to hurt me. Shame on you for not caring about me, shame on you. I just cant imagine how unsympathetic you are, how blatantly selfish youve become. I dont even know if youre worth my hate anymore. Youre worthless dear wife. Im sick with disgust.


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Tuesday August 01st 2006, 11:19 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters


Its 2:00 pm on a Saturday in June. I am downtown right now, of course, thinking about you. The last time we were in this neighborhood together was the day you met Jhonen at the APE convention. That was the first day you came to my work as well. I remember being upset at you because you had changed your attire to a complete black ensemblewhich looked lovely, by the way, fitted with high heels and everything. It pissed me off, however, that you werent dressed up for me, or for yourself even, but for Jhonen. You dolled yourself up for your friend. Why? WHY did you do that? I never asked you about this, but it was something that lingered in my mind throughout the day. What were you trying to prove to this guy anyway? The next day was the day all of this (and by this I mean our break up) occurred. After the terrible dinner we both endured, after your look of complete dissatisfaction with me and with your life, you went to see Jhonen at his hotel room at midnight. Does it bother you? you asked. I replied No as I sat at my desk, pondering your gestures, your need to look pretty for Jhonen, and all the rest of my fears that had built up during the past month of our marriage. But, you know how this story ends, so Ill try not to recap the plot. I would like to say, however, that you are at fault for this just as much as I am. So how dare you accuse me of not being trustworthy? How dare you blame me for hurting you? How dare you make me feel weak about my emotions post-breakup? Who do you think you are, you little brat? And this is why you shut off and moved on. You denied yourself the dialectical understanding of the reality of our relationship. And you are a coward for not grieving. You think youve moved on but in actuality you just stepped backwards into your own void (example #1 Justin [fuck Justin]). Anyways, I have to go now. But thanks for nothing.


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Tuesday August 01st 2006, 10:42 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters,Love Letters


Let us once again embark on an adventure of thought. Let us sail away from the shore of materials, and journey into the sea of memories. I remember a girl I once knew, a girl who wanted to know love once again in her life. I remember her clearly. She was a beautiful presence, stunning beyond all belief. Her physical beauty only mimicked her internal self, as I recall. She was quiet, young at heart, and believed in love. When I met her for the first time, I instantly knew she and I would form a love so powerful that no one could stand in our way. We were to be the epitome of love that sacred being that is True love. I remember her warmth, caress, lips, voice and most of all her expression. I remember how I would fantasize about us being together. I remember marrying this girl I once knew out of the love we shared. It was an amazing connection that I shared with this girl. We built our new life together: we shared a home in San Francisco. I remember how hard it was to leave everything behind so that this girl and I could look towards the future. Our future was to be as bright as the sun itself. Our love was to be more expansive than the ocean herself. My wife became my angel, a presence inside me that embodied my thoughts. I remember making Love to this Angel. There are no words to describe the beauty of our lovemaking. This girl, this Angel, had become my life. But I also remember the fear I had in this new life. I remember not wanting to talk to my goddess about my fears. I wanted to continue moving forward as I hoped my fears would dissipate. Though I digress. I will keep this crusade of memories consistent to the thought of the girl I once knew. But let me clearly state, this girl, these memories, are mere phantoms of thought. To my surprise, my eternal Angel has died. You, M, have killed the beauty that was the essence of her vitality. You have drowned the poor child in a pool of freezing thoughts. You have murdered my love. So, here we end our voyage, in the cold murky waters of hate and despair. Get off this boat. I hope you can swim when your obese thoughts are tied to your thin waist, otherwise, you may drown as well. Oh the irony of it all


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Monday July 31st 2006, 5:37 am
Filed under: Hate Letters,Love Letters

M (runt be-gone),

Today, I write about presence. Not being nor time, but the becoming which synthesizes the object and the subject. More specifically, Id like to discuss your presence in my dialectic in the immediate subsequent instant. Your aura, the rational embodiment of your essence, reflected by my thoughts, is dark and cruel. It is, in fact, ugly. True ugliness. You have become, to me, a actualized fulfillment of the True beast. This, however, is a blessing for me, as I can now move on and concern myself with other philosophical instances of presence. However, I would like to point out the amazing capabilities of the cognitive process. It isnt everyday one finds oneself in full circle, with completion realized. You have destroyed yourself. What once I loved, I now hate; moreover, you have transcended through this paradox (by means of context) and have fulfilled your position as a True being. Your subjective self now complies with an objective, and therefore you have become an absolute spirit a filthy disgusting absolute presence in this dialectical procedure. I find this whole singularity perplexing because of the expedient nature of my thoughts. However, I do realize that these thoughts have not appeared out of nowhere nor are they a direct response to experience. These conclusions of my concept of you have dialectically been sprouting through cognitive investigation, through detailed gaze upon the subjective nature of our sacral, intimate, unfriendly (at times), and individual encounters. Even though I realize the fluid nature of Truth, and the superficial qualities of an absolute conclusion, I can, without any more doubt, approach you as a True being, with an aura, a presence (which I noted earlier fulfills the requirements of cyclical destruction, thus transcending into your being a becoming that is Truly disturbing and vile) and further, as an embodied spirit in reality.

Yours Truly,

a happy boy.

Sunday July 30th 2006, 8:29 am
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters

Dear filthy bitch,

Again I write to you from the tip of my soul to the bottom of my heart. This letter is in regards to Chance, my love. What is it about Chance that we appreciate so much? How about the fact that Chance led you to me, that Chance began all that was our love. However, with Chance comes risk, like the risk I took in marrying you, in loving you, in creating a now non-existent life with you. I gave up so much to help you, to be with us, to create our love. And to thank me for that riskto show your gratitudeyou fucked me over by giving up, you fucking quitter. You gave up; you took no Chances. You used my ability to love like a dirty towel. You washed your hands with me and threw me out. You dont care where I end up, if I end up at all. You dont care if I live, succeed, fail, or die. You are not my friendyou are loveless, selfish and narcissistic. Youre a fallen woman who knows nothing beyond yourself. You risk nothing and live off of the risks of others. For this, I hate you. You have a very special place in my life now. Ive never hated anyone before this Chance. You will die alone and unhappy. And because of this, I smile.

Thank you, and fuck you,


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Saturday July 29th 2006, 8:48 am
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters


Please, be afraid of my thoughts. Please, worry about how I feel towards you. Let me begin by stating, youre a quitter, a useless speck of instability that I find repulsive and vile. You are the odious worm who wanders in and out of the dirt to feed off the leftover mental accomplishments of others. You have neither the capacity for thought nor the ability to love. You areand I do mean this a terrible human being. Or maybe, you dont even qualify as human; you are below the lowliest human, an exotic ape. Humans are, in comparison to you, delightful creatures. You are sick: no, better, sickening. I become sick when I think of you. Your insides are rotting pieces of flesh that smell worse than the shit you spew from your little precious cracked mouth. A bowl of my own vomit would taste better than the taste I have in my mouth when I say your name. But I guess there is a place for you on this Earth, and it rests between the stovetop and the bottom of the pan. Not even Hell is bad enough for you. Somewhere in the stink of Satans armpit lies your home. Oh, and by the way, any pleasure you get from this letter, and pleasure you get from life, ever, belongs to NO ONE but me. This is the cost of my love that you gave up on so quickly. So, go fuck your ex, go fuck whomever you wish for all I care. Youre a fucking poor excuse for a human being. You dont have the mental capacity to experience any appreciation besides a good fuck. Please, by all means, delve into your retched self, your nasty narcissism, and fall flat on your face. The concrete will only be a release from your wicked life. Youre a dime-a-dozen dearest, and you know this. Your faade cant mask your emptiness for long. Good bye you bitch.



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