I thought it was a good time to come forward, albeit anonymously, because it just seems necessary. Without some explanation about why this is happening the project would potentially fall into oblivion, or be taken up by others. I think I’ve already proven to the reporter that I am who I say I am, but my original idea for proving it should satisfy that question without any doubt. I’m going to show the reporter how it’s done. I think that makes more sense than just explaining it over the phone or relying on my one cohort’s accounts. My cohort is going to be very good for this coverage, I think. He can tell the story in ways better than I can, from his more anarchistic approach. That we both interpret this theater differently, I think, confirms its status as art.
I took two panic pills about an hour ago and I feel so much better. Anxiety gets into everything. My gut feels it, my head, chest. I used to take a ½ pill, followed by another ½ later, then a whole one at bedtime. Now I just take two all at once. It works faster and I don’t need another one later.
I’ve been dicking around on the dark web, looking for genuine people making genuine things. The quantity of guns and ammo for sale, the quantity of pornography featuring torture and rape, the quantity of assassins for hire… I don’t care about that stuff, and in fact I suspect a lot of it is phony, or hoaxes, or FBI traps. I’m not entrenched in the dark web world with a Bitcoin account or any of the accounts needed to purchase or sell, but that’s not why I’m there in the first place. It feels like the early Internet, if the mid-1990s is considered “early”. The search engines all suck, sites are slow as hell, there aren’t many ads but the present are not tracking you. But the communities I’ve encountered thus far seem genuine. There is a twitch factor, I think, where the barriers to entry make the quality of the people there higher than the regular Internet, where everything has been simplified to the click of a button. In the early 1990s the barriers to entry were the stuff of gearhead fantasy, and simply arriving at the dialup BBSes proved you deserved to be there.
My innards feel calm now, after the two panic pills. This is what I need to do, is just calm the fuck down. Being at this desk and in this apartment is enough to make me crazy. This time, as often happens, the anxiety reached a pinnacle at the moment I put the pills into my mouth. That’s when my hands started shaking more and the tightness in my chest strengthened. But damn these pills work well, maybe a little too well.
Of course this means I can’t drink, and that sleep might be an adventure. I have had little trouble with sleep most times I quit drinking but last time was different, for some reason. I need to get up earlier now because with daylight savings it is basically going to be dark 24 hours a day, at least in relation to my late sleeping patterns. I used to get up at 3 and would race outside just to get some blast of sunlight. I’m not so bad on the late sleeping now but I am pretty erratic, waking at 8am today after rising at 11:30 yesterday, and 9:30 the day before. I read a profile of the guy who tried to bomb the Port Authority. It was the Times, so it was typically sympathetic, but only up to a point. The intro made him sound like a normal enough kind of chap but the story turned on the comment that he was a “late sleeper”. This, it seems, is a hallmark terrorist trait. I thought it just indicated laziness, and in my case sleeping long hours often follows a day spent using my brain in a way I had not used it for a long time. I may be a late sleeper but I’m no terrorist.
I spent many hours last week processing my radio tracks, where I talk openly about the kiosks adventures. I’ve been hiding in plain sight, but the Internet is big enough that that’s easy to do. On the one hand it should be easy to find someone like me when I’ve made explicitly clear accounts of what is going on here. But when your link rank suck, or if you’re like me and you explicitly make yourself invisible to search engines, then what you have to say might as well not matter. If it’s not been gobbled up by the searchies then it just doesn’t matter.
Some of the radio has been interesting for me to revisit. I forgot about the poems I tried relatively recently. They were a lot better than the early crap I put out, and which I will not be putting out again.
