I need to meditate at a reasonable hour. Last night I did it at 3 in the morning. And then I thought of "visitors." Then when I closed my eyes I saw them very clearly. They don't really look like men from outer space with big eyes and heads. The cover of Whitley Strieber's "Communion" came closest to capturing what I think they actually look like. Their faces are very flat. Their eyes are thinner, but wrap-around. Their faces are very flat. No noses. A slit for a mouth. They have hair and they wear black robes. They are not necessarily visitors from outer space but something else. I saw them so well that I was wondering if I have truly been abducted. The hair stood up on the back of my neck and I could not properly meditate. Instead of thinking no thoughts I thought: "Don't abduct me. Not tonight. At least wait until I finish meditating."

Last night I had a dream that I lost my friends' cellphones. I lost the cellphones of Chris, Eric, Ana and Ipsita. They were, of course, all annoyed with me. Then I lost my cousin Ryan's cellphone. My cousin Ryan's wife Robin comes to my house to yell at me for losing his cellphone and I explain to her that the reason I don't have my own cellphone is because I was once a fervent Heideggerian (I don't know how one can be a FERVENT Heideggerian) and that I see cellphones as devices that actually destroy Being. Then I admit that I was simply monstrously depressed AND pretentious and now I am ready to be like everyone else and own my own cellphone. Geez. What a dream. I wonder what this dream MEANS??????? Let's analyze it.

I've been defeating the OCDs and depression. Both are more or less gone.

I used to go to sleep just to escape my OCDs. But you know what's bizarre now? Now I'm only OCDing in my DREAMS! Last night I had an OCD dream in which I was incessantly OCDing, just like the old days.

I'm looking forward to going to A.C. for Thanksgiving this year. Just last night I was discussing simulated environments. Simulated environments used to be of great comfort to a neurotic such as myself. After all I was afraid of severe weather. In a simulated environment I knew I was safe from tornadoes. Now I just like simulated environments because they are superior to natural environments.

I think of the Irish pub on the second story of the Tropicana. A pub - made to look like an old Dublin pub - on the second floor of a glitzy casino. Great! Cozy! I would be THERE during a severe thunderstorm and/or tornado.

But now I'm even losing my fear of severe thunderstorms and/or tornadoes. Because NOTHING is worse than the fear of going back to the way I was in 2008/early 2009.

I'm also looking forward to Whitehouse subs, the best subs in the entire world! And, yes, I will be eating beef. Because even the fear of Mad Cow disease is not even as bad as the thought of returning to how I was.

And I'm so glad that it was cool and rainy today. It felt like the fall - a season far superior to the summer. I used to love the summer (mostly because I hated school), but now I recognize that Anton LaVey was right: summer is, indeed, a season for the vapid.

I can't wait for the fall and to go to A.C.!

Today my meditation was interrupted by some joker revving his car up and down my street. I hate bike and car assholes. They have no ability to comprehend the mechanics of the universe, so they ponder engines instead. They need something contained and limited because they are so contained and limited. Superior beings like me are happy with nothing less than the universe itself.

Today I was so full of my superiority that I actually laughed out loud. I went to the supermarket today (as I, bizarrely, do every day.) The cashier was this big, fat half-wit white girl. She rang up my beans and said: "These look good!" She held them for about five minutes. I thought: "Hurry up! Those aren't your beans!" "Have you tried them?" she asked me. I laughed. "No. I haven't." I had better things to do than discuss beans with this girl.

Then I laughed again, in love with life.

I'm feeling again. There are some songs I cannot listen to without feeling sad. The one that comes to mind now is "Ordinary World" by Duran Duran. I think anyone who has suffered loss or pain can understand this song.

It was hard for me losing my ex. The pain of losing her was like a bitter mineral that ate me every single day. I LOVED her. The fact that it was an absolute requirement for me to have sex with a lot of other people had nothing to do with my love for her. Why can't I love someone and have sex with many other people? I've never understood the dogma against that particular form of sexual freedom. I have made this clear hundreds of times in hundreds of writings. I don't love her anymore because I realized that she never loved me. She did not love ME - she loved what she wanted me to be. I was nothing but her lump of clay to be molded and that was very unfair to my own personhood and integrity as an individual.

But still, the sort of heartbreak I've once experienced - and that most people on earth have experienced or will experience - is captured in that song.

I first heard it when I was 12. When listening to it I thought of my grandparents, of losing them, and I felt very sad.

My anger has been dissipating. I've been feeling much better physically, mentally, spiritually and I am committed to defeating any lingering problems.

My anger toward women:

I believe in a sort of categorical imperative. Be fair with me. Keep good faith. If not, I will punish you.

If you fuck the inferior, then fuck the superior. Or don't fuck at all. That is only fair. The inferior do not deserve rewards.

Evil is separation. The person who says NO is usually wrong. The person who says YES is usually right. Why not fuck? Why not?

It comforts me that most of my former enemies are suffering. Call it Schadenfreude. They had their chance. Now I have mine!

From now on I'm going to think of one person a day who has been nice to me. This anger is not me! This anger was a by-product of my ex (the one who made me deny my sexuality and therefore my PERSONHOOD for four years.)

Maybe I should think of my high school drama teacher who was incredibly supportive of me.

Yes, that's the ticket.

I have not been depressed in a while, so I decided to stop by a Jersey Shore porn store.

Well, that did it! DEPRESSION!

The stores down here are so inferior to the ones in New York. New York has every kind of porn imaginable for dirt cheap. New Jersey has titles from the 80s for $50.

The cashiers in New York porn stores are usually indifferent Pakistanis. They consider Americans to be lowlife perverted savages, but they are happy to take our money at every turn. There's no judgement because they could care less about us either way.

The clerks in New Jersey porn stores are usually fat, lower-class white women who try to show off their "liberation" by being exceptionally crude. They are welcoming to the customers because "Hey! There is nothing wrong with buying porn! Porn is fuckin' awesome dude! It fuckin' rocks! Make yourself at fuckin' home, dude! We don't fuckin' judge here, bro. Even if you buy fuckin' gay porn, bro. Being fuckin' gay is fuckin' cool too, bro. Nothin' wrong with it." Yes, you fat, ignorant white women are just so liberated! You're just so liberated! This is what the 60s were all about: liberating fat, ugly, crude, foulmouthed, stone-ignorant, trailer-trash white women. That's what the 60s were all about! Abbie Hoffman and Timothy Leary are laughing from Hell!

Last night I went into a Jersey porn store. A fat black woman walked in with me. She said "We're racin' to the same door" to me, to show how liberated she was. She went in there and talked to the fat white girl. Apparently the fat black girl had some gifts for the fat white girl.

"Dude, this fuckin' rocks," said the fat white girl."

"I knew you'd like it honey."

"This is fuckin' awesome! I ain't gonna be goin' out with no shit like this though."

I didn't know what they were talking about, but such crude language! Such bad grammar!

Then I realized that I was having an Ignatius Reilly moment. Here I was, in a porn store, judging a piece of trailer slime for being crude and vulgar.

The fat black woman's white boyfriend came in. He was a wigger white guy in a baggy shirt and shorts. He had a shaved head and a pencil-thin Rican beard. He looked like the kind of piece of wigger fuckshit that would be hanging out at Jenks. Oh, he was so INSIPID-LOOKING!!! He probably drag-raced neon-illuminated hot rods and ate Cheetos while watching the "Fast and Furious" movies. Oh, what an insipid look he had!

I had to leave before insipidity-stoked depression overpowered me. I ran home and hid myself in books and the porn I already have.

Oh dearie! My poor tomatoes are withering in the sun! Why? Because Mr. G has been working in his backyard for the past couple of days. Today I was determined to go out there and water the flowers - and face Mr. G face to face. But I chickened out again.

Mr. G is working on some kind of unnecessary project. He's building some kind of concrete walkway in his backyard even though the walkway he had before was perfectly acceptable.

I watch him from my upstairs window and I ponder. What IS he thinking about? What is going on in his mind?

Why does he give himself so much "busy work"?

Like most bourgeoisie I am sure he is denying death. He doesn't want to think, so he works. And I don't blame him. I think too much and it leads to terrible depression. Yes, constant busy work - a constant project - is an excellent anti-depressant. But one has to at least know WHAT one is avoiding. Or does one? I've just always had to do things the hard way. Might it not have been better had I gone with the stream?

As far as spying on his grown children. Well, my justification for that was that he couldn't mind HIS business. I suspected that he informed the township that my lawn wasn't mowed. He also used to go into my backyard - uninvited - and trim my hedges. Who the hell was he to stick his nose into my business like that? How would he have felt had I gone into HIS backyard without permission and trimmed his hedges? He wouldn't have been too happy or comfortable with that! So why should I take such an INSULT lying down?

Good little bourgeois was worried about his property values and instead of blaming our misguided system, he bothered little ol' me!

So I said to myself: "If he wants to look over here I will look over there!" And I did. And what I saw was much more interesting than overgrown hedges.

So why am I afraid of him? He started with me!

I'm learning to let the anger go. It's a blockage. A blockage of my creativity. Meditation is helping me to cut short OCD and another insidious habit: rumination.

I can look at my sister's Facebook page and realize how much I hate her. I think she is a CUNT and a rat bastard. I grow enraged and I am determined to become someone or to do something to get revenge on her and all the people who have wronged me.

Or I can ruminate over this past April when I went to her birthday party and not a single one of her friends even knew that I EXISTED. She has been ashamed of me for years. And, oh so many times, has she tried so very, very hard to look past my many, many flaws and to try to have some kind of relationship with me (even if it means just calling me once every six months.) But none of her ideas of "some kind of" relationship involve pretending that I actually exist - or that I am anything but some kind of angry, broken-down loser. That's part of who I am (and especially who I was) but it's fading away now. I'm becoming a winner again.

But my sister has always been a cunt and a rat bastard. She's always been a coward and a mediocrity. Those are the two best terms to describe her: COWARD and MEDIOCRITY. Those two words sum up her entire life.

So why am I angry? She has always been this way. Asking her to change is about as unfair as her asking me to change (which she has done my entire life.) "I WISH RYAN WERE MY BROTHER! I WISH RYAN WERE MY BROTHER! I WISH RYAN WERE MY BROTHER!" Ryan is a nice guy, but I am not Ryan.

Why waste time on people who have never taken my feelings into consideration? Why waste time on people who are embarrassed of me and ashamed of me? Some of those people may not believe this, but I actually have FEELINGS too! Can you believe that? What a concept!

I am no longer angry at my cunt sister, but I am angry at myself for always giving her the benefit of the doubt. I am angry at myself for taking so much abuse over so many years. I am angry that I have ever felt anything for her. I am angry that up until about the past year I was too depressed to fight back and this made it easy for her to treat me like an inferior.

NO MORE. I love myself. I care about myself. I have dignity and self-respect and I deserve to be treated with respect. My cunt sister is incapable of loving or respecting me, so she is dead to me. Like the rest of my worthless family (except for my father.)

What's most important is that even though I dislike them (enough to call them cunts, etc...), these people no longer have enough power over me to even elicit an emotional response. From hatred I am now drifting over to complete indifference. From "FUCK YOU!" to "Whatever..."

I realize that life is far too short to waste time. Why waste time on people like my sister when I've found a REAL family? YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE!!! YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE!!!

And I love you with all the love I have to give.

Stephen Hawking says humanity's future is in space. Is it? I've dreamed of living on Mars. Humans have become so tired of themselves here. How will dark, gloomy, cold space suit them?

I think of weird crimes. Like the guy who robbed a bank in a Darth Vader outfit. Or the flower bandit.

It's fun to hear about these wacky, zany crimes and all I can say is to enjoy them while they last.

I am afraid that there will soon be no unusual occurrences at all. That everything will, paradoxically, become some abnormal form of normal. Mass culture and conditioning has become so powerful that nearly everyone is a carbon copy of everyone else. There is no longer room for individuality or aberration.

People - including criminals - will become so uniform that they will practically walk in lockstep. Everyone will simply have a role in the hive. This is our decadence. Freaks and weirdoes were a product of 80s decadence. There aren't too many freaks and weirdoes anymore. And didn't 80s criminals have more individuality? Didn't they try to stand out? Now criminals try to conform.

So enjoy and wackiness and zaniness while it is still here. Because the unusual may one day be a thing of the past.

Last night I ate very spicy Mexican food before bed. Not a good idea. I had a series of bizarre nightmares, most only half-remembered.

The only one I remember clearly involved Joe Bonham from the film "Johnny Got His Gun." This film was cut through Metallica's "One" video.

Joe Bonham was a fictional World War I soldier who stepped on a landmine and had his arms and legs blown off. He was also blinded, deafened and rendered mute.

In my dream he was all of a sudden the coolest guy in school, like a Ferris Bueller. He was travelling around in limos and dating hot girls, going to parties and bobbing his head to the vibrations. Like nothing had happened. Like he had really overcome his handicaps. The point of the novel was that war was such WASTE, but in my dream Joe was moving right along.

I moaned and groaned and finally woke up to see that the sun was coming up. When waking up from a nightmare that is always the best - to see the sun rising on the horizon.