i don't know what poor symbol man would do if i WASN'T suicidal or planning self castration or something like that. but he's always making a sandwich or about to leave or half engaged in something that prevents the full extent of his trollwit from being unleashed. which is a shame. because it's like we only get to see faint traces of his full and mighty potential. i told him
before but he was unable to read. perhaps due to being entranced in the midst of a voodoo ritual that involved a doll of my penis that he couldn't keep out of his mouth long enough. did he have to bite it off and chew it to quell the tears? did he then slump onto the floor in a fit of moans lamenting my continued existence? i doubt it was for long, as there was surely a sandwich to be made. and now he's moved onto "corroding innards", but i don't even smoke anymore.
i hope he's ok. i don't know what it is he needs from me that i could possibly offer. perhaps he could paint pictures of his younger self in blood and scream "WHY?" at them until he's forgotten whatever the lie was that has caused him to keep going all these years. perhaps then he can start berating the painting, and act out it's own self inducement of death after the ego destruction that is wrought by his devastating wit. maybe as he rips the canvas apart and falls onto the floor in a frenzy he will hallucinate the sight of my username and avatar as he tears up paper and carpet with his teeth. and maybe that will provide a temporary release and assurance that al is well and he's become a glorious filmmaker and generally great man. whatever happens, i hope he can take at least some solace in the fact that i stubbed my toe against a door last week and it was quite sore indeed for a while.