My third entry today. I did something to my back tonight, every time I cough it fucking kills. I wonder why I was coughing so much on a Sunday. Sunday seems to be the day you get really fucked up. It�s the last day of the weekend, so anything resembling a care to me, is immediately thrown out the window. I�ll eat fucking bacon, I�ll smoke pot at 9 in the morning, I�ll smoke 5 cigarettes in a row, I�ll drink 8-9 cups of coffee, sit around and watch television with the sound actually on. I�ll not get any exercise. I like to hurt my body on the day of the lord.

I walked into the field behind the library with my brand new metal detector. Boy was I ready to use this thing. My girlfriend bought it for me for my birthday. My birthday is in the winter, so this beautiful April day was a great day for it�s maiden trip out to the field, or �the frontline� as my other metal detector friends call any area you are going to �sweep�. I�ve been using a metal detector now for about five years. There is something calming about the metal detector. There is something that takes me back to the good old days when I have the metal detector out. My uncle had one when we were little. He would come back from the beach with pockets of nickels, and the occasional Timex watch. Now, I was the detector. Now, I was on the front lines. I was on the end of the metal detector I only dreamed of when I was a little boy.

About twenty years previous, a woman was murdered behind the library. They never solved it, as a matter of fact, they never even tried to. She was not a well liked woman around town, she had no family, nobody really knew her, and so they just sort of let the case go unnoticed. My friend in the police department told me about this. She was apparently stabbed multiple times, and was left for dead next to her a bag of heroin, and some beer cans. I had wanted to get behind that library for years now, but just never did. Perhaps I would find the weapon, or some other clues. What I did find was astonishing�a watch. A watch with the initials T.C in the back of the face. My fathers initials actually. While digging the watch up though, I found something more peculiar, but I can�t talk about it anymore. No more am I to talk about this. No, I can�t talk about this. I can�t let myself get involved with this yet again. Over and over it gets to me. Over and over I start telling this story, and then have to shut it out of my head.

On the days when I have nothing to do, and nowhere to go, like today was. I get filled up with ideas, and thoughts that I don�t normally have. Tonight, I took a little ride by myself along the ocean. I like the way the ocean feels in the summer. The moonlight followed me for a few minutes, until a scattering of houses stopped it. It�s almost 2AM and I am not the least bit tired. I am ready to take on another whole part of the night. I am ready to fucking do something good here. Now I am in a shittier mood though, Well, actually, I�m in an amazing mood today. I go. I went. I went up and down all day today, like the peddles of a bicycle. The more people I see and the more I talk to throughout the day, I get a little more depressed. I am doing nothing. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I can�t take a fucking deep breath without thinking I am going to keel over from the sharp pain shooting through my left shoulder blade. I can�t even rest, because I will lie there and think of things I don�t want to think about. How and when will I die? Next week in a violent car crash, ten years from now from cancer, 47 years from now from natural causes. I want to know. Somebody please should tell me this is all a big joke, or a big dream or something that it isn�t.

Ray Manzarek should be crucified.

before & after