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walken's yacht.   
12:56pm 13/06/2003
  so i was having these fucked up dreams last nite.

i remember two parts. in one, i was some kinda whorey prostitute/girlfriend that christopher walken was paying to accompany him on his yacht. my job was to walk around on the boat in a bikini being hot and fuck him when he felt like it. i wasnt me of course, i was a real 6 foot curvy playboy hotty. so at some point we're gettin down, and im all bored and stuff cuz i definitely dont find him attractive at all, and i start to doze off. then he got all upset and hurt cuz i was falling asleep while he was humping me or whatever. i guess the dream ended around then.

later, i dreamed that my best friend had died, and i was at her funeral crying and crying, which is weird cuz i recently realized that i dont like her at all at that she isnt really my best friend cuz we have nothing in common, nothing to say to eachother ever and shes selfish and boring. in the dream i just walked around and sobbed even after the funeral, and some other girl who was supposed to be a friend of mine kept trying to get me to cheer up and go out and do things with her but i just wanted to be left alone so i could keep crying forever. i guess it does kinda make sense, since she really did kinda die in a way, atleast as far as being my best friend goes.
 
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05:03pm 19/01/2003
  the other nite i dreamt that me and fuckface were snowboarding somewhere. fucked if i would ever be doing such a thing but anyway, we were on one of those sky/ski lifts, and at some point i laid my hand across the side of his face and planted him one on the mouth. it had that cinematic nature, that "o my god, finally" feeling that rarely occurs in reality. i woke up, of course, to searing disappointment, and thought that maybe if i had gone into a coma at that moment, i could have lived out a wonderful life.

i remember the last time i talked to him. it was his birthday, last year. i hadnt any idea at the time. december something, i thought, tho i didnt really think about it at all. he was only a little drunk when he called the first time.
"do you know what day it is? its my birthd- no, do you Know what day it is?"
"um, your birthday? you just said it was your birthday so im gonna go with...."
"no! do you fucking KNOW what day it is.."
called again a few hours later at maximum smashedness.
we're all just like white blood cells, he said. we just die and theres no point, or
something drunk and stupid along those lines.
i had learned from the last time he'd done this that theres no point in talking back cuz he wouldnt be able to listen or stay awake, so i listened with the knowledge that i wouldnt get a turn, which was alrite. i thought about his new habit of only calling in the middle of the night tanked to hell, wondered why he didnt talk to me under normal circumstances anymore.
i fucking LOVE you jen, you dont even understand, i fucking Love you.
uh huh.
it had taken about a good four years for me to develop an immunity to such talk.
 
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too fucking good   
03:31am 01/12/2002
  http://father-ramos.com/

the sermons section. be sure to dl 'demonic deviltry'
 
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11:02am 26/11/2002
  //how to create a desolate human being.

BEGIN the process early, at school. First, create confusion by hurling a multitude of unrelated, disconnected facts at him. Meaning is not sought and so, by implication, is shown not to exist. Yes, there is poverty in the world's richest countries; yes the Gulf War was fought against a dictator armed with US, British and French weapons; yes, air pollution is getting worse while we applaud the creation of more jobs in the car industry ; he knows the facts but he does not know why, he cannot know why, he must not know why.//
 
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alice's gift.   
03:14am 26/11/2002
  the dodo solemnly presented the thimble saying, "we beg your acceptance of this elegant thimble."  
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