As I develop, so to you too may see...a demon dies in me every day you know:



Don't get stupid - Hollywood throws you in these to set the tone in on beliefs said. No God talk here.
One night on the right as informed and I wouldn't even get up to piss - almost ran the fuck out how could I ever live here in this?
I enveloped the place with my mind at once, and then prayed the effect lives on with no damages as suit.
Sees why a fright and fear are two different things.
One is completely irrational - sight.
The other is yours and to see. Deadly force is here.



Just now in - "What the fuck is this stuff? It's him in his hate."
The soul glass faces south in the main room up front with wood floors.
The glass is flat on one side outer and looks just candy-coated inside as with a brush. It is simply lain on glass to be made as I said.
A soul or costumed ghost can be seen well night or then day to say 'hi' to me from outside "may i come in?" or to be mean and bitch at me for having said all French with black wrap on face but eyes.
This outside the window is the alley where homelessness roams - signs that cannot be read legibly have no meaning but to someone and looks "like flames" they said.
Also, there are lockers that are yellow with shower-type places around - very exciting-looking to me. Missing now, but there were chairs like an audience outdoors when I first got here.
That was that, but all moved upward out of the way. Is in the sky now. Murders happen there too...."jerk-offs" and then back the very next day for it. That's my way too never a next day berused by you.
The soda patchwork in yellow spongings reveals death scenes all over it. Look yourself - what do you see? No human made these well ever.
Credit artwork to Marilu Henner while dying of cancer once. I hang a partial of clear shower curtain at right to paint merrily as a gay bitch: you and me-type creamings make me the king. You try now.
You see my holy spirit daub as a seagull first...or then the smallened 'x' over a head as squinting oval eyes meaning 'no thoughts' to me somb.
A dead baby was once lain here at saigte with supper table emitting from wall by blacks seeking remorse for theirs. If none, they eat it at once together...even hair.
Fifteen hundred (1,500) eaten here - yuck to you...as may I? The hair mine?
Note the villean frames of the windows - so no one climbs out without alot of work of course and noise. Ours a jailhouse of types with bars on the windows.
Always hating the look of, I can tell you they are quite beautiful and securing on a ground-level only and actually. You never know. Get console stereos and tv's to keep your shit here forever.
They open from the inside if you know, but I recommend simply leaving at trouble spotted. Like you'd wait...
"We think you live in a hell."
Please, Bitch - we just asked to stay longer. And plus I'd feel guilty leaving these friends of mine. They'd have to end this ours unfavorably our home together.
They were at the last place in and out alot, but like you and with such decor seen to follow.
Please, see the progresses afoot. See the promotions I got over you. Would you just dally in to this? A fool made realm - note that.
"We don't really like you" they say me. Again, Bitch....you're here to see and tell my virtues (the parts I'd say of me) to others afoot and beyond. A closed survey of good only to me.
My computer right now is on the side opposite this as facing the picture hung I look at the wall beyond.




Rest longways, head down and always in the box. These golden leaves of sorts scroll you this: all rivers of life end in pockets of death. A ruse (amusement) to me.
Not really yours to say but comfort at will. I have a hard time believing any one person comforts that much.
This wall is next to the yellow frame but on the on right and you are facing south.
At night, the window at right has a headless woman in a long white dress hanging in the curtains, and there's a tall slender orderly in white ;) tending above left the corner as something.
My favorite is a guy in a burgundy terry bathrobe. I call him "Richard" who runs the place from the other side bullying people he is a cute Jewish man - has on a t-shirt and underwear only, white both.
I see these from the back bedroom as lying and happy as shit and they only advance so far into here - they will not enter the room far. I ask them 'why not?' from there and get mad a comfort me.
The computer I'm writing on is in this room where apparitions appear nightly.
The window you see recently rinsed of Christmas snow as scraped down by me..someone was scared probably at night, but I need it clean to no bother. Yes, I asked and to no bother it seems.
May sun shine you.



These guildings say "hair from a woman - she has it all and dies anyway." I'm immediately sure no one needed say that I lived some the wall seams to what's next door and does for this way.
The female side is other - you know carrying on and all for no one missed such and as such.
See the Medusa lamp breach us here - I like red and green in the middle rise first lit up only, then others and once blue.
No welcoming to the dead, as Christmas is coming they break it trying to know.
The boxes on the wall with seeming eyes are the "planos" I mention or box spirits. I love the Asian-style eyeshadow of the one living right, but filled in the vacant stare of the lefterly gaze out.
Spackle, someone left us apparently, but see how it measures you. "Never to touch me" her prayer Alyce Walker (an Asian to black woman) is her name (no relation to any book or say).
She says she was buried alive and starved to death in the 1950's (I get 1954). "They buried me in a box until I died on heroin. I killed someone too. You die this nightly for being here."
I know, I know - that pinched ass from a crawdaddy entered was so bad to me. "Why'd you have to hurt me so bad..."




The 'bedroom' windows south of Romolan nature; is not the language a religion of the dead they see.
The design is bat wings as operation - not two truths mine (more at each of these later). Pray see.
How does it work? Light plasmas in the form of ethers explode in the center and drive out the sides what connect with the total side unexpandable and pull the wings up an act. Mine -thanks again.
In reality, a high altar of God rests here mine - the shelves open to its right for slither in (that is, the corner on the right seen swings out toward the back door) so ghosts come in.
Under the windows the white part looks bad because it is - a lochamare or virtual entry for me as ghosts.
The wall of window flips majorly upward from the bottom what detaches and ghosts come in - they are always in view ouitside and shame towels hung into their very shapebeings - so cool to me.
That block under also goes black like a garage entry and they come in and wait like statues to know better of me laying there they complain I don't fuck and think I never did. But them do.
Sad, me and my one video over and over to tights around the lip - in reality they star on each DVD, but cannot see a gift you'd say if some. You have mine and I yours too "Blanket 12".
So welcome and - see two (2) swimmers in red speedos and white open shirt tops always out there as friendly, yet refusing my entries as paid - a queer. They'll beauty to me yet. Texas tears.
The eyes take form as the windows theirselves speaking to me in great lengths my visions and become the feline eyes of mind over or a ghost sitting in a chair above us asking questions in a hot tubble.
The eyes get distant, they alert, they fill with tears, and they also show indignation and also greet me with hate.
I ask them once upon defying me - "are you sure?" and then relent with a major ass-kicking that never leaves me with any questions I hate pigs making points to me a divinity sent to top the likes of you.
Mind is me assisting me with what I don't want to see ever and I make sure my feelings once mistaken are known.
I beg ghosts not to change anything at all, and not to perform any lap dances embarrassing all of us together. This is death folks - it mattered some oh lighten up.
You keep your codes and stop me - the one inevitable that alway shows up no matter what, no matter what-who - from hurting what counts to me best.
See no change at best drug addicts always high and always living the metaphor we share. Tell no one - or else to you.
It's a great game we play so kill me but keep steed. I hate the common entering pleas in my court of system. See me here. More than later could know.
By the way, any bitch doing my dirty work is mine, I just don't know her yet. See nothing not yours. Make no progress for thee untaken to mine. Eat me anyway.
I was no one to you ever and that means something to me. Why now - just forget it. I'm just me with friends some unseen and some unnamed, but a bad person - that means it.
We rule because we can - or else die trying to you we rule you and in the head. Just die then.
So die, you make more of what you are only 'you are the least you've ever been' take to yourself only 'affect the world you eschew not' while I do with no rules and to you ever. So what?
Signed, I am the crime. Careful be you or ask to know more then and now and later too. "Don't endanger us..." eat flies I prove you in happy only your way, but not at your command we are God.
P.S. To Richard Weiss - you are that. You are...that burgundy robe is mine now since I scraped your window down "Christmas snow"...sure. Headless bitch. XO

The ball, the hang-grenade? Oh, sure - like I'd just spring right open at the every chance to say with you to.
Soulcages and this too soon.
This the ball - ostensibly just a hanging lamp - made of six (6) equal pieces top and bottom halves and is forged of used surgical instruments and blood product made rust. Of pain made me.
Mind revealed surgical picks and blade-types all over it to me one day upon entering - all seemed welded on its surface mostly lower.
The ball holds visiting souls spying on me (?) and against their will no matter who and as silent and then forms verbal magmas as it melts and disintegrates them into tears metal flows.
It also issues dark energies in hostile clouds like smoke but buzzing like bees and as silent with its hissings. My favorite is using my mental powerses to destroy it a very world by banging it with my mind.
If at once forcing the chain above to break a herculean task at any measure it falls for me in slow motion and is serously hung in the air but not as swinging.
Never falls far but one foot (1') to symbolize strength mind says. I don't want anything more anyway as satisfied mind, as denied nothing but fresh out of any good ideas required for missing me too.
Respect this to be respected - not like the ability to do is gonna wane. We don't need talk we'll just do ya up the ass I'd say. We let you know first.

I keep my new baby syllophant in the middle shelf. When it comes home to Daddy-my-won, it moves like a shadow filling from one side and inside to the other and quite fills it up with the darkness mine.
I make it comes out to play often but it makes things disintegrate I worry I foul I need it to evil not talking of me a time masking of your teeth exact replicas on the floor if you left is minor one.
Minor to me.
The drawers of the shelf open and close slightly too - I like that when and if.

The towels [and then blankets] - can you prove it? Any time! Just spend the night here with me when do.
I hang white towels in the scarian (loosely noted) windows as to be not seen doing and with lights shining in it's like they're not even there.
A tear in one is a whole world of visit to me.
Visions start distant and small and pull in greatly and I see all there - it asks to know you first.
What have you seen? Well, one night I saw Tammy Faye Baker enter a funeral home reception to taste a liver pate on the top of a lochomare (sealed coffin water). I raised her son that way.
She ran in, tasted it with cracker, and left and just that quick. Her son's liver punched out for the tubes entered.
She is someone I respect for this act - a DIY lacking but proof positive as expensive and caring - as she knows what she wants of me hers the hairy boy I'd rescue.
End this to me.
How many like that will I do? Three (3) a year some black (meaning, I'll do it to hurt you).




These the leather skin-foils - the larger are back skins of black women only, the little ones each ass cheeks from up into the cracks of.
So?
The three (3) lowest big ones emerged with the faces demon grey of the three (3) black demons from Zaire wearing topper hats like shoguns.
We talked forever about killing Chris and John Ondy their demands if met, they too liked my dick (in their seventies they said).
More later...friends and Ondys...the ghosts just me actually it said but driving hard bargains away for me.




"Oh, my God! What the fuck is that?" It ain't just you. We have long pea-green sheers on a thin brassely springrod. Is that enough? Hardly, no.




The rear door one sees if rusts. I myself wouldn't to dream of painting it over saying so little for so much done.
One of my first nights, if you'll pardon the ghost present, had a muslin bag hanging just oustide in the twilight...right on my door. Simply a rude - thanks.
The same door opened one night had a girl floating right in mid-air over the stairs up, fully clothed, red top, blue pants. Cassie Elliot of France - thanks, les Bitch.
Others, many others, behind her that night other nights in the yard and all over it said.
We sewed the shower curtain cover orange/yellow ourselves for homes besent and now cover the view to us with little nails in our brassened grommets.
I like my sympathies light, an open window at night, a breeze of her enter, and no noise from onlookers as I pardon to you too.
Remember a fool, a studio beckons you off. Radioscopes? You'd think you woulda got paid for it all seeing first.




The tub so weird with stall in the middle...that my zit laver in gray.
You see Dr. Bronner's almond oil soap don't you? The men just love it. The loofah? His and thus hers only - never to mine.
That's for an old woman's pussy - keeps the hairs out of her way while cleansing that one bucked sharp.
I make little cords to skin lesions, bults for ripping off while undressing. A bit of the discounted tag will too rip off - I don't ask one how to feel.
I also clip the tag slightly off corner in identical shirts to avoid the slob's version with choco pudds as on-front. Now see that.
You need know.




The hanging skylight over the tub, and so to speak.
There was a suggesting pole from end-to-end on brick what wound up being a wooden broomstick just painted silver looked rusty (hanging plants above?) My roommate took these down along with doors.
In the corner left seen a small pulley looks a like a little rusty bell and for? Both sides seen out front have these skylights, and in tandem.
I know I have no privacy with these - some aged woman I see on the street often, but as looking around in houserobe was in here one day on the other side of the curtain while I showered as just looking.
I build a protoplasmic (before plasma or weight noted) shield for the female drop-ins unwarranted and as with my mind and stays it. It is across the lower block like a sheet of water made light.
It sorts them out kindly this whole place a hellhole for intrusion not mine. Just one touch in the wrong place sees it a death suffered by me - yours here.
You want me to be a mother jellyfish in sewers sucking on turds and licking out carrots with you - not meaningful glow to me a warrant for your arrest is seen.
You didn't want what little you had it good.
"We don't have a mother." Grow that necessary up life is good to you.



Our rear door, the basement door open - I wouldn't go in there for weeks. The steps where I sit at night chatting up ground.




"You're a mean pig." I am God, Bitch - this is my gig. Alternately as scared and scaring.
A cat? Or then a person sitting as demured? No - a half-used bag of cement mix. This studio - half ours, half to yours. What did you want to see a trap door?
This stuff is called "planars" to me or then "playing with your eyes" in French dialect or speak.
The dead - or souls only - have coordinates they see and feel to sit in and be noticed this way. They have all feelings as we are God.
No one gets to hurt us ever - and we are beyond your harms to and in God's great comfort of it. I ask to know and get the same said. Asking counts. Ask you too...or be that scared then.
We need you back and forward some. Nothing funnier than someone coming here to make friends in an elysian field as special to me and then dying days later as followed home by friends unsure as.
Be that special. You are me. You are that. Some will ruse.
Some to little then.
Some to little.
Some. I tell people I'd run like a pussy unless cared. I'd run - who are you?
See institution make the difference. I quote we can kill "over fourteen hundred (1,400) people a day" without additional bothers - be there for it.
A mind is nothing to know of then. Stay out my party missed to not.




The washer and twintub, the new pipe from the construction to the soil stack or sewer pipe (turd layor). You used to identify bodies through these at a distance or catch one as a disease in.
The washer - a heavy-duty Kenmore manufactured and from 1952 - works still and claims many more washes to see. I use it still but have to pump hot water in by hose removed to the tub.
Something's up with the thermostat that guaranteed matrons a water bath for all diapers not theirs no matter what setting is seen by them. We like it too.
No one has the right to wash here there were heads in here - so what? A cruel twist is no one's bargain to relay. I hate talk about bodies and am that to you.
Once the guts and thus skin are gone, you have flesh not. I hate flesh in my food, only, but cherish your revere for it. Food me not or hang from trees over it says me God.
You'll hang - trust it today.




"Those that must be kept..." (in boxes as awaiting the upstairs).
This quote see from Anne Rice's "Queen Of The Damned"...they move so slowly you can't even see it happen, but turn around and they're different somehow.
That "one voice rising above the din" and all.
Who are the damned? Those held out of reach and by you only.
In these we store stuff on exceptionally-clean particle board made extra-thick - I'd spend the night sleeping here easily if must. Nothing to see or smell.
A homeless shelter of sorts, and if may, breathing nightly with door open. The basement floods with rains, however, you see this around the bottom.
I wanna get an electric fishtank pump or water for flowers-or-fountain pump to sort it down the soil stack from the sink by plugging in once and with hoses running to and fro.
When I was little, my father had a great one that you hook up to an electric drill to pump out via two (2) garden hoses either end - that's was cool. The drill locks the finger on as, yes.
Alts to "The Stinger" a little wet and dry vacuum I bought my dad at Home Depot - shaves water out the back of the cleaner or is less noisy, kinda, it says.
Search the gifting madness that is HARBOR FREIGHT! for keyword "pump".
No majors needed, but the water heater's pilot light, as sitting just left of the washer, goes out with cold and damp to rust the metal and keep it lit off.
Mind recommends kitty litter around it all outside and dug deep.
So? I just live here and decide not much of it with someone undoing me constantly "you don't know what you need..."
Not like it's mine and all of my stuff stolen too (or simply held away from you too sells nothing yet a saran wrap I hate your use of me).
I have many CD's, VHS tapes still...steals clothes here. Expensive toiletries I'm learning somehow and not to be with you.




The dirty parts as unseen...




Southside Johnny of the house. The Minotaur approacheth.
 
 


There's the back of the other side...while they inside the silent art theirselves, ghosts come and go in-between through the closet. I talk to 'their girls' at night in my head - believe that?
In my last place, I loved the couple next door - the boy cute and adventurous, the girl protected of. Usually, I hate girls touching me they are like aliens on teaworm but she wasn't bad at all.
Some girl living on the roof across the street runs over and checks in with me, she is a rude Jew but fun for a bit. Died with her brother in a car crash. He's back, she ain't - she likes the roof too much.
Girls are major tandit to good fun, but these are arted out gently by me and are never made to run. From one glisp moment to another we laugh and sing over the roof and out that's I'm queer.
No, never a real one yet - I'd ridicule fags by making them draw a pussy for me. Great fun a good laugh too. No two alike in reality or on paper it seems you can't make that happy like I am happy myself.
See mine - I once made a clay model of both version in Summer 1978 with clay, aquarium tubing, a slit red balloon stretched, some paint. Ask my sister how good they were too (up inside her our secret).
I reached the ability to know what in Summer 1977 after a local swim. I was twelve (12) going on thirteen (13) and loved it some. See it normal. See it normal here.
"You betray gays." So silly - thanks for everything you are my personal saviors I gave too and then I simply made it all happen to me, us. It just ain't right - never was.
A divinity comes once you stay. In truth, you keep the bean salad. I know lots more, but you can't see that here maybe later.



A tree in our distant backyard once under construction the threat to us - never real, is shape shifts, has cats about.
A witchen - note vaginal opening at the base like the forelegs of a horsebat, and is cursed. I made a Hydra for the yard lives in it some.
Type? Why? Avocado - and is never real. Jason lives in the rafters as the syllophant.

For now, ours rest you...