time to tear space/time a new one...

i think i'm starting to lose it.

a space-sponge takes a steam-bath. in the 21st century apartment of the man who is responsible for all the miseries of my life. who has apparently no technical skill whatsoever. so it's unclear how his inventions came to be. and who just happens to be an alt me. who has been a kind of quantum reconfiguration locus for now hundreds of other alt me. who were sent here to kill each other. because they are being used by the universe to destroy itself. and i have to make sure all of them die. except me. and skint here.

wait. never mind. not losing it after all. it all makes sense now.

phew.

self-loathing takes a deliciously ironic twist

breaking bread with your enemies. understanding that your differences may not be as vast as you thought. learning to trust one another. learning that maybe the enemy is, in fact, an awful lot like you.

yea. an awful lot because the motherfucker was me.
i am frizzant skint.
apparently.

here we go again.

who gets to die first?

well thank fuck all the boring expository set-up of the rest of my pointless life is finally over! i can't tell you how excruciating it is to have some encyclopedic setup... historical narrative... a narrator... some pompous bastard explaining to me what it is i have to get to getting done. from now on, i'm my own man. because what just occurred to me is that, if i have to kill an infinite number of other me's (minus 2, that is) is that it will take just shy of an infinite amount of time. woohoo... i've got most of eternity to spending perfecting my art. so no more interruptions of side missions or nested stories or nothing. unless of course i happen to come across a mathematics text about recursive time travel functions and end-up accidentally causing all the other me's (minus 2 that is) to spend the rest of their infinite time killing each other.

haha... i bet that never happens.