February 5, 2002
I’ve entered hell

Someone needs to communicate with me! I’m out of trust! I have no faith! I no longer have belief in this self I am. If any of these are missing—you know what the consequences are. In my current state, I’ve left more blood behind than any other time and yet, I pretended everything is alright. Silence sips on tea while I bleed.

note: At the time this was written, I didn’t realize how sick my body had become. Consumed by bronchitis headed for pneumonia… I laid in bed putting blame on everything but the self that couldn’t run from, the source of negative energy that had stolen my desire to create. Therefore, I wore masks, even in sickness to protect the desire to create. Diane Trace, a fellow employee once handed me the lyrics to Hotel California written by Don Henley and Glenn Frey.

Mirrors on the ceiling
Pink champagne on ice
And she said
We are all just prisoners here
Of our own device
And in the master's chambers
They gathered for the feast
They stab it with their steely knives
But they just can't kill the beast
Last thing I remember
I was running for the door
I had to find the passage back to the place I was before
Relax said the nightman
We are programmed to receive
You can check out any time you like
But you can never leave…