I understand what goes through the mind of a man preparing to unleash a massacre on innocent people. Such a man is not insane. He is not a sociopath. He has feelings, he has love for humanity. He cares so much about life, he would kill for it. But no one would kill for him, no one would love him, not the way he lusts to be loved. He’s ridiculed by his peers or repeatedly rejected by women. He’s a loser in school or a middle aged man whose dreams are fading into oblivion. But he still loves…he loves so much. He wants his life to work so much that eventually the pain of loving is unbearable. He’ll love until he’s sniped from existence. Only then will he have peace. Before he goes, he’s going to share his love with you, with your daughters and sons, with humanity. He knows you don’t want his love. He’s known all his life. That’s why he no longer gives a shit about what you want. Prepare to die.

I hate myself, I’m such a sick fuck. It makes me want to bash my head through a wall. I tell myself to stop thinking about it, I want to stop thinking about it. Within my abdomen lies a fear of not stopping, I know I can’t stop myself. Yet what I feel there even more is a sense of urgency to do the impossible, and this realization wets my eyes. I’m a loser. I don’t even have control of myself. I’m part zombie, not fully human. Another little girl I am in love with is going to suffer. I don’t want her to suffer. But knowing she will suffer with me makes me feel slightly better and aroused…though if I could make the choice, I would let myself suffer alone. That’s what matters most, my suffering, my inability to control myself. If it was a rational choice to molest her, fine, but it isn’t. I know I’m responsible, I know the part of me that is a monster is also part of my soul.  And now my chest is pounding.
 

               10:00 PM: With my amazing friend Ron, danced with scarecrows that were at this lame party at the tennis club. Also danced with a group of nurses, most of them in their 40s or 50s, but most had nice bodies. Obviously the scarecrows were more fun. Left, went to a bar. Then went to the most expensive brothels in the city, saw a girl I liked, and tried to negotiate for a price for an amount of money I didn’t have just out of curiosity.   Observed that I did not like to be hit on by prostitutes, it’s just stupid. One grabbed my doo-rag off my head, put it on her head, and I was ready to slap that ho.

               2:57 AM: Lack the will to live. Push bare mattress onto floor and lie down in the vain hope that I might get up and get ready for bed. Because of this psychological limbo, do not sleep well.

               6:30 AM – 9:00 AM: Get woken up repeatedly and pointlessly by family.

               9:53: Brush teeth.

               9:56 AM: Go to San Jose. See really hot girl on the way at the tennis club, lament that she will never be my girlfriend.

               10:35 AM: Call twins I’m meeting at 10:30 AM to tell them to start their trek to San Jose.

               10:41 AM: Walk around, go to McDonald’s, I drink a water and chat up a girl who sat in the chair next to me (got number, discussed plans to teach her to play football next week).

               11:32 AM: Twins arrive. I tell them I need water. They ask me if I’m hungry, and so I think they want to eat. I tell them I’m a little hungry and tell them I don’t have much money. They take me to Taco Bell ask what I want, and then order and pay for my meal without getting anything.   I pay them back immediately upon sitting down. I offer them some French fries, and one of them starts feeding me fries like I’m a baby. I tell them I’m not an animal. The one feeding me then suggests I feed her sister because it is “muy romantica” and so I pretended the fry was a rocket ship (I don’t remember if I actually stuck the fry in her mouth).  They observe I am “muy inteligente” and that last week I didn’t know much Spanish, and now I know a lot. Yay for me! We are laughing a lot throughout the meal, talking about the same shit over and over--in retrospect it’s all too mundane to sustain my interest and it’s still a pain in the ass to talk to someone who doesn’t know English. I’d say it’s them not me, but actually I’m bored with my own humor. I explain to them it’s too difficult to communicate over the phone. One clears the table for me and the other grabs my stuff. Setup meeting at 5 on Monday with one (or both?) of them.

               1:45 PM: Arrive for rehearsal.

                              <Flashback>

                              Me: This play seems kind of stupid, I’m not sure I like the girls there.

                              Dad and sister: You were the best performer there.

                              Me: Really? Then I shouldn’t accept a role unless it is the starring one.

                              Dad: You should have them rewrite the play, starring you as Jesus.

                              <End of flashback.>

                              Casting director comes up to me (who always has a smile and an unnatural enthusiasm like I imagine someone would if they had taken crack): You are our star! And this role will allow you to travel during rehearsal.

                              Me: Really? The street sweeper doesn’t seem like a star role.

                              Casting director: It is. You are Jesus. We need someone strong—you come at the end, you drive home the message. It’s a very important role. Do you understand?

                              Me: Yeah!….

               3:48 PM: Play foosball, using a crumpled up paper cup, with 5 girls, all 8 and under. Girl whose idea this was insists I drink from the cup lest we waste it. The youngest are the cutest, ~5-yr-old: “I am grabbing the handle. I am so happy!” Contemplate how hot the 5-yr-old will be 7 years later.

               5:07 PM: Observe that my life is currently pointless. Though it was painful, it was much more satisfying when I worked all the time. The only other time I thought my life was pointless was when I tried to convince myself there was a point to life (and at the time assumed I would die). Ironically want to kill myself (not really), instead write this.

               6:17 PM: Talking to Ron…

               Other notes: I hate my life (really).

               10:00 PM: With my amazing friend Ron, danced with scarecrows that were at this lame party at the tennis club. Also danced with a group of nurses, most of them in their 40s or 50s, but most had nice bodies. Obviously the scarecrows were more fun. Left, went to a bar. Then went to the most expensive brothels in the city, saw a girl I liked, and tried to negotiate for a price for an amount of money I didn’t have just out of curiosity.   Observed that I did not like to be hit on by prostitutes, it’s just stupid. One grabbed my doo-rag off my head, put it on her head, and I was ready to slap that ho.

               2:57 AM: Lack the will to live. Push bare mattress onto floor and lie down in the vain hope that I might get up and get ready for bed. Because of this psychological limbo, do not sleep well.

               6:30 AM – 9:00 AM: Get woken up repeatedly and pointlessly by family.

               9:53: Brush teeth.

               9:56 AM: Go to San Jose. See really hot girl on the way at the tennis club, lament that she will never be my girlfriend.

               10:35 AM: Call twins I’m meeting at 10:30 AM to tell them to start their trek to San Jose.

               10:41 AM: Walk around, go to McDonald’s, eat with some random girl (got number, discussed plans to teach her to play football next week).

               11:32 AM: Twins arrive. I tell them I need water. They ask me if I’m hungry, and so I think they want to eat. I tell them I’m a little hungry and tell them I don’t have much money. They take me to Taco Bell ask what I want, and then order and pay for my meal without getting anything.   I pay them back immediately upon sitting down. I offer them some French fries, and one of them starts feeding me fries like I’m a baby. I tell them I’m not an animal. The one feeding me then suggests I feed her sister because it is “muy romantica” and so I pretended the fry was a rocket ship (I don’t remember if I actually stuck the fry in her mouth).  They observe I am “muy inteligente” and that last week I didn’t know much Spanish, and now I know a lot. Yay for me! We are laughing a lot throughout the meal, talking about the same shit over and over--in retrospect it’s all too mundane to sustain my interest and it’s still a pain in the ass to talk to someone who doesn’t know English. I’d say it’s them not me, but actually I’m bored with my own humor. I explain to them it’s too difficult to communicate over the phone. One clears the table for me and the other grabs my stuff. Setup meeting at 5 on Monday with one (or both?) of them.

               1:45 PM: Arrive for rehearsal.

                              <Flashback>

                              Me: This play seems kind of stupid, I’m not sure I like the girls there.

                              Dad and sister: You were the best performer there.

                              Me: Really? Then I shouldn’t accept a role unless it is the starring one.

                              Dad: You should have them rewrite the play, starring you as Jesus.

                              <End of flashback.>

                              Casting director comes up to me (who always has a smile and an unnatural enthusiasm like I imagine someone would if they had taken crack): You are our star! And this role will allow you to travel during rehearsal.

                              Me: Really? The street sweeper doesn’t seem like a star role.

                              Casting director: It is. You are Jesus. We need someone strong—you come at the end, you drive home the message. It’s a very important role. Do you understand?

                              Me: Yeah!….

               3:48 PM: Play foosball, using a crumpled up paper cup, with 5 girls, all 8 and under. Girl whose idea this was insists I drink from the cup lest we waste it.  The youngest are the cutest, ~5-yr-old: “I am grabbing the handle. I am so happy!” Contemplate how hot the 5-yr-old will be 7 years later.

               5:07 PM: Observe that my life is currently pointless. Though it was painful, it was much more satisfying when I worked all the time. The only other time I thought my life was pointless was when I tried to convince myself there was a point to life (and at the time assumed I would die). Ironically want to kill myself (not really), instead write this.

               Other notes: I hate my life (really).

I hate my life, I hate life.  Happiness means shit.  I'm announcing this to the world, and I'm going to show them.