ghost the ghost who slams the door, opens it and says boowho 041028 ... kerry his name is Dom and i am pretty sure he is the one who buried st joseph upside-down in the garden. pretty sure those were his pills i found in the cabinet, and his amulet under the AC unit in the office window. his mail arrives almost daily in my mailbox. on earth he was a baker. in this house he seems friendly enough. 210809 ... insouciant My pen meets the page and the ink-covered ball drags along the fibers of the paper to deposit a black mark, but none appears. Confused, I make a few more attempts, haphazardly darting my pen across the length of the notebook. Not to worry, i suppose, the ball must have gotten stuck on dried ink, so I reach for another pen. My blood temperature rises with anxiety as the second pen fares no better than the first. I turn the point of the pen towards me and examine the ball. It is covered with black ink as usual. I take the pen apart to check if there is ink left in to tube. It unscrews easily into pieces laid on my desk, and the tube is filled with plenty of ink. I take the ballpoint tip and ink supply and place the naked pen back on the page while also placing the side of my head on the notebook. I drag the pen downward and watch the ink disappear on every stroke, leaving half of the ball visible as bare metal, but nothing on the page. Not even an indentation from the weight of my hand pressing in to layers of the notebook. It doesn’t make sense. I wrote in this notebook before, using these specific pens. My words are being lost. The thoughts in my head remain trapped. I lift the notebook from the desk and rifle through the pages. All of them blank. I know i wrote in this thing before. I know i have written my thoughts down. I know it was in this notebook, and countless other notebooks. This is a practice, something i do all of the time. This can’t be right. I can’t lose these thoughts to oblivion of forgetfulness. It took so much energy to concentrate this emotion into words, I can’t let it simply dissolve back into my mind. It has sat there for days and has wreaked havoc and weighed me down. My hands fumble for my phone, searching for which pocket it resides. My right hand lands on it on my right thigh, and I fish it out. It unlocks immediately and i open up my notes. I add a new entry, and am relieved as a blank screen appears with a cursor. As my thumbs hit the keyboard, characters highlight but the cursor remains stationary, blinking endlessly. The rhythm of the blinking is steady but also impatient, wondering what’s taking me so long. My mind is tingling with frustration. My hands tight and tense as i try to force my words into the phone aggressively. I flip to app after app trying to find one that will accept my thoughts, but they all reject me. Tossing my phone to the side i collapse down to the carpet, head in hands. Sentences i need to write down pass through my mind. They burn as they pass from my ears, through my eyes, and ricochet inside my skull. In a last effort i try to pass my finger over the fibers of the carpet. Just as the paper and phone, the carpet cares nothing for my presence, the very floor that supports me not willing to accept a single mark. These thoughts will remain inside. They will define me. The physical realm of the the outside world cannot receive them. With these thoughts, i am a ghost. 220904 ... insouciant Every day I run from dread Trying to convince myself that If I can just be more comfortable with myself Be less guarded Reach out to people more Put myself out there And trying that little bit harder That I would be more likable That someone would want me in all the ways I want to be wanted But under all these layers Hours of talking, painful honesty, and therapy There's nothing new to find No self that I"m hiding I am now who I will forever be: A ghost Hoping to be noticed And made real 230219 ... nr "i think i died yesterday," he said. "i know it sounds weird, but i was in a car crash, and the other car t-boned right into my side of the car. there's no way i survived that." "everything seems weird now," he said. "the ring that had always been on my left ring finger was gone, and my girlfriend just seemed like a version of her that i didn't know." "i've disassociated before but never like this." i really hope he's alive. 241008 what's it to you? who go blather from