I think I’m going to cut a lot of this... Oh! Uh. Hey! welcome! I was just sitting here staring at my arm. Boy do I have so many awful ideas for this piece. It’s called C4STL3 H4UNT / FUCK BOZO, which sure is a wacky title, huh? I just thought it sounded kinda cool. It relates in no way to the content of the piece. Enjoy :o)


You want to destroy yourself thru writing? Watch this ;)

Hey. I love your writing. No- not you—— yeah. You. White guy with the beard. You’re talking about ontologies and it’s making me think about how good you are at sexting. One time I punched a mirror , thought it was a nice metaphor. Subtle. Taste. Really fucked up my hand tho. Sometimes I go weeks without shaving so I can look more like you. I love it. 

I haven’t ever believed anything I’ve ever said. If I say I’m cute it means I’m trying to kill myself. I know I had friends. Well I liked their tweets about wanting to die. So true. They liked mine. So true. And then they did it and I was jealous and then I forgot their names. I’m finding out months later in a dm from someone who was at the funeral. I should have found out when they messaged and said “I’m finally getting out of here” and I was drunk and I said “omg that’s great I know how awful it is living there.” Before I found out, I realized I hadn’t heard from them in months. Then I realized I couldn’t remember their name. I just remember the vague bruised impressions of feeling not alone. You had a lot of funny tweets. 

I’m in the passenger seat. He’s listing off all the times he’s ODd to make a point. He went to rehab. He isn’t clean. Known him since high school. He calls me by the name everyone who exists calls me. Every time he drops me off he says “love you” and I say “love you too.” I think about asking him to give me his dealers number every day. Two of his friends are going to jail for life. He wants me to write a letter to them. I have never met these men in my life. I don’t understand why he wants this. I don’t understand why he thinks they’d want this. I write the letter. I don’t understand why I hate myself deeply. I send him some money to put on their phone card. I know how much he’s hurting. They were like brothers to him. When he was trying to get clean they’d ask him every day if he wanted to come and split the price for a bag. They were just scared of being alone. I’d probably do the same thing. One of them was withdrawing in solitary and tried to swallow his tongue. My friend has told me this three times. I am a little sad sometimes. I’d probably do the same thing.

My father had expired Percocet blister packs in his bottom drawer under the socks. It made up for a lot. One time when I was seven he beat me in the carport with a piece of wood till I couldn’t walk. This is one of my only childhood memories. He went to anger management. He said this did not happen. He said it really hurt him to know that I thought he did this. The next day I was in the shower and he came in and rubbed ointment all over the bruises covering my ass and leg and back. I still rent a room in his house. 

Man were those percs fire tho.

If I released this anonymously I’d include a questionnaire in the back. “How would you describe your assumptions of the writers self proclaimed gender identity? Be honest, we won’t tell ;)” I want to surround myself with things that hurt me. I want an excuse to not get out of here. I imagined myself as a middle aged man living in a trailer. I’m assistant manager at the gas station now. I imagined I’m getting off work and I’m stopping at Walmart and I’m furtively buying a pack of women’s underwear. Oh I’m so silly, what am I doing? I imagine I’d put them on and cry and then try to jack off but that makes me cry too. My arms thick with scarring. This provoked nothing in me. This did not make me cut a large gash in my leg that got infected. This did not make me get blackout drunk. This did not make me leave.

I am thinking about how badly I want the people I care about to be happy. How much they deserve it. I hope they never read this. I am thinking about how if they did I would need to disappear forever. I am thinking about how much that would hurt.

A disclaimer: I have never read a single piece of autofiction. This will not change. I am simply aware of the concept. If this is autofiction I am going to kill myself. My impression is that that type of fiction is mostly written by chumps & clowns & sex creeps. If this* is* actually autofiction I’d like to retract that previous statement. I’d like to think that this is funny and relatable. I think it’s really just a poorly written massive fucking info hazard to myself. If this turns out to be a suicide note by the end I’m going to be so pissed. 

I am not going to use poetic language. Just Be glad I cut the worst shit. 
I think I had a lot of really good ideas while I was out changing the trash but I forgot all of them. I bet misery tourism would publish this. I mean they published that one piece of mine and it was trash. Ok they prob won’t publish me now. Are you getting the impression that this is more masturbation than self harm? Buddy, if you think there’s a difference I’ve got some news for you. I feel like I like the idea of this more than the reality. I hate the idea that I can’t just plainly talk about awful shit I’m thinking without that shitty lil voice reminding me that I’m being derivative and unoriginal. I hate the idea that any of this has any value. I’m considering how to design this. I’m considering publishing anonymously. Man i feel like this is so insanely obviously by me, and I don’t wanna have that conversation. Oh, have you seen my doom posts? Well you’re gonna love this. I’m absolutely never going to finish it. And all of this above would never be included, because I’m keeping the scope tight (ideally.) but man, will it be satisfying to delete. One sec. 1000 words. Fuck I’m behind on work. Wait. Fuck. Okay I get it now, *this* is autofiction. This sucks.