Battered blue ghost monster from Pac Land. Inky was the nickname of somebody once close to me, at least physically. I fed Inky a diet of different dopes. Once after not sleeping for a week (the longest I have ever gone because even missing a single night makes me total batshit and full of miserable near-constant panic–even when I’d stay up all night at a slumber party all I’d want to do was come home and sleep the clock around the next day) the tat, admittedly lousy and done some time in 2002 in Reno for $65 by a horrible tattoo artist who was probably drunker than I was at the time, has seen better days. There is scar tissue in that area from frequent feedings. I remember, that is, I’m old enough, to remember when Pac Man was on the vanguard of technology. A quarter to play a damn game? said my father, who only said that because he SUCKED at Pac Man. On some Saturday nights (it was every Saturday night in my fondest memories) we’d get into the station wagon, or maybe Dad’s sedan, a state car or company car I think, and we’d drive into the city and eat at this place called The Hungry Bear. Later, I lived blocks from it when it became the China Garden. I remember being three or four and telling my parents that I hated pizza and then when the pizza arrived I realized that I had misspoken and actually I LOVED pizza.

Never figured out if the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants was some kind of protest thing or some wacko cultural artifact on holdover from the last days of the Zine and riotgrrrls and girls who wore their hair up and wore a certain kind of makeup in D.C. in the early 90s. I roamed the malls with them. They all seemed to be the daughters of diplomats.

Try to be cheery. You know you have another seven days of not eating, nothing but water, no drugs, no socializing. This will be the end of several addictions, whether I like it or not. One more one more one more month and then I will either be dead or I will be free.

You can’t threaten to kill a suicidal man.

This is the end. Put a gold mantle on the inevitable modernity.

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