Today is a beautifully cold day

I was remarking to one of my pets this morning that it's such a beautifully cold day. The sun crest through my small window at twenty minutes before the hour of seven this morning. The snow on the trees glistened. There are several rows of small stone markers that extend from the back of the building and sprawl up a small hill out back here. I call them soul markers where of course we bury our dead from this place- yes it's true. Sometimes they have no place to go when they die here, no family, no friends, no one wants them except the ground and worms that travel through the most soil. This time of year as you know the ground is frozen so it's very difficult to bury someone. Stephen my neighbor was rambling again all last nght about the "men" who are coming for him. Not certain what he's talking about, especially since I sometimes don't know what the hell I'm thinking about. But then when I awoke this morning and saw this beautiful day I saw what he was talking about. The "men" came last night but not for him, but for Roger who is in cubicle 27. The poor bastard died last night and as I was waiting for my daily allowence of essential vitamins and minerals...is that good doc? I heard a thump, thump and it was Earl, the caretakeer trying to see how frozen the ground was..well after one or two hits, he managed to slip and fall on the ice that covers the ground out there..I had to laugh inside because he looked like a fool. He looked like he really hurt himself and when he got back up he slipped again. I could hear Jonah just a few cubicals down from me hysterically laughing, though I'm not sure if it was at Earl or at the random thoughts of terrors the poor bastard has. I think Roger heard him because he looked back towards us, squiniting to see if he was being watched. That's when I heard Jonah banging on the window and yelping as if at ball game. Well this set Earl off and so once he was able to stand, even wobbling in place he flipped off Jonah and basically crept his way to the back entrance of the building. Frankly I think it was stupid of Earl to even attemp this idiot test considering from three floors up I could tell that poor Roger wouldn't be buried today. In fact he joins Frances who died at the beginning of December and who sits in the moselium on the grounds. At least Roger and Frances have something in common now. In this world they were crazier than shit house rats. Frances would pick these scabs on his body that he thought kept moving around. The problem was that someone, I can't say who, ok it was orderly Wilson dropped his pen which rolled under Frances' bed. Well poor Frances was so obbessed with these mysterious soars, that when he found Wilson's pen he just started digging into the side of his neck until they stopped moving. Wilson was suspended or something, pehaps elevated in keeping the head count low here. So that how Frances was taken. Roger just died I suppose, but who knows, my information is scarce since the inmates are nuts and the staff here is even crazier for taking care of us..Yes Doc, I have to wrap it up for now, thanks for listening...

The day the world went away...

Once upon a time I used to write in my bok of lies I called it. Until I got caught and then it was a pack of truths that others wanted to use agaiinst me in the court system. Of course this is a story of another time and I have lots of that at the momet.

I have been finally able to be free from my small cubical we calll them here, not cells as you would see fit to call them in the "real" world I guess. What does that mean? The real world, is that the place outside of this existance of where I'm at in this particular moment? Or is it the place where you exist far away from me and my friends or patrons or what have you. I think the real world exists no matter where you are, whether you're stuck in your head like some of us here or have a nine to fve job. That's the world we live in- yes I know that you say. But the day the world ended for me, my reality which exists now among these cold walls and the membranes of my mind are very different.

My book of lies or truths set me free in ways that I can't even imagine. My doctor says I'm delusional and an obsessive voyuer...ha haa I like that..uses basic text book terms that are for the mundane and ignorant. "Patrick we find tha you can not be released to society at the moment." hat does that mean? Is it because of what I wrote in my book? Is is these things I have done, I witnessed that "sane" people would not and could not even dream of having done.

I can read lips to some degree, it's a talent that I have grown to enjoy using since most of my days are spent in isolation. Although I'm not a big talker of sorts I watch others ramble along their merry way into rediculous conversations about nothing. Blow hearts I call them among other things and when I stare out my eight and a half inch by twelve inch wire meshed thickened glass window on my door, I need to see conversations being said. They sometimes don't ven notice me there though I see their glances my way, I feel they're just playing with my by using terms like, "psychotic or psycopathic or even premeditated." Terms in which I don't know if they think this is what I am or they're talking about Stephen next door. He's a mess that poor bastard. Last night at two thirty and forty five secnds after the hour I was lying in my bunk, the silence was extraordinary. Of course broken by this asshole of a neighbor, he wouldn't stop screaming, I don't know why, but this carried on for many minutes. If I was to guess I would have to say at least twelve as a rough ball park.

Finally Earl and Matt came, they are the two orderlies or nurses or thugs what have you to subdue poor Stephen. I think he was having a nightmare, I know I dream, I don't belive in nightmares.

My time is almost up so I have to go for now. Dr. Lee is kind enough to let me start a blog. I think he thinks it will help me get better if Ic an write to you out there.