Payphone Radio got a little weird last week. Some folks found it again, just a few, not the mob scene that tried to call into it back in January.

Someone was talking like an Apologista, someone who knew the old Apology Line or at least knew its reputation. He was talking about being a murderer and trying to be creepy when it seemed everyone else calling in knew who this was.

I don’t know what those calls (about an hour’s worth) mean or if I should be concerned, but in other Payphone Radio news I switched up the overnight playlist to be something new. It’s the BLUE radio, which I don’t think anyone has listened to yet. 

Putting BLUE on Payphone Radio might shake things up a bit. It is the first programming change I made to Payphone Radio in a long time, and aligns with my long-term plan of turning it into more than just content recorded through payphones.

BLUE troubles me. I deliberately and hungrily explore sadistic and dangerous fantasies involving women I actually see around me. My genuine intentions are anything but sadistic but, in the pursuit of shocking myself I find disgust and dismay with myself for letting certain types of thoughts come out of my head.

But it’s all fantasy. If horror writers can do it why can’t I?

It’s just some will not hear it as fantasy. They’ll hear some middle-aged white creeper talk about staking out innicent women and masturbating to one of their voices while punching her repeatedly as payback for the inconveniences she injected into my previously placid life. 

People will hear me talk of suffocating her, of fucking her beyond consciousness, of starving her and defecating onto her all as my way of showing love for her.

Some will decide this cannot be fantasy, and that authorities must be contacted. Interventions!

The dream about being in a Nazi facility (not a camp) where some of us were tied up, bound and gagged and thrown onto a floor.

One of the general said I could live if I shot the man lying next to me. The deal was supposed to be I’d shoot him in a harmless spot.

But I deliberately and with dark joy shot him on the bottom of the heel of his left foot. He begged me not to, saying this would ruin his life worse than death itself. 

But I did it, and I liked it. I listened to his throaty, gryff howling in pain and I liked it… until I woke up and asked if these thoughts and dreams are genuine material of my conscious mind?