the.y want me to go no.w (go now)or         some--
           some thing's going to be 

Week One:

The TV guys said there'd be sandwiches. We've been here three days and I ain't seen no sandwiches. Then it hit me: these are the same TV guys that air Walker, Texas Ranger for two hours every evening. These are bad, bad men. No sandwiches, no hammocks ... there isn't even a coconut tree on the goddamned island. I can see that my encyclopedic knowledge of Gilligan is going to get me nowhere. Damn and blast. I'm hungry.

Damn. Jessicapierce does have a hot ass. (I saw it!)

Week Two:

I've staked out a camping area near the Southern tip of the island. A few trees frame a small clearing and the winds seem a bit gentler on this side. I've started a little garden by replanting the more mature plants of what I'm assuming is an edible species of, well, something. Looks almost like meat ...

Jet-Poop has left the building. Went the way of AgentNgo: extinct. I'll miss it. The ol' communal eye was coming in handy for food location and I can't say we've got the most "outdoorsy" group here--Saige and Juliet have been using some sort of crumbling fungi to "powder their noses" and I think they've each caught some kind of strange buzz off the stuff. They keep laughing and applying more "powder" to each other. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for some "hot, lesbian action" but who isn't? Things are, naturally, getting a bit primal.

On closer examination the fungus seems to be a bit more alive than I would have expected. Egon would be interested, were he not merely a fictional character from Ghostbusters. I've taken a few samples back to my site. I've been regularly adding plants to my garden...I wanna make sandwiches, goddammit.

Week Three:

Dman disappeared two days ago. I'm not sure anybody else has noticed. I've been spending less and less time with the others...can't be sure they're on the right team. MoJoe's been acting kind of weird...lurking beneath some twisted palms near the West side of the island. I think he wants my sandwiches.

Fuck that.

Ain't nobody touchin' my sandwiches but me. Meat sandwiches.

Week Four:

And then there were twelve...

Icicle is dead. I don't think I know why. I don't think.

Week Five:

There are definitely fewer of us now...I can't figure out exactly how many are left. Things have been getting progressively weirder every day. I can't leave my garden. They want my garden, I'm sure of it. Last night I heard footprints. This morning I saw footsteps. Something is not right.

The garden is growing too fast. I think it's the fungus. The lesbian fungus. It's growing too...this morning there was a fine powder on all the plants. I tried to wash it off. I think I tried. I think I tried to wash it off.

It's still there.

Week Six:

The island is quieter today. I think it's a Sunday. I've been making notches in a rubber tree but they appear to be healing almost as fast as I make them. The powder covers everything.

I haven't seen anybody in...well, I think it's been at least a week. I can hear them, though. I can hear them mostly at night crawling through the brush. They've united. They've formed some kind of goddamned team. I've killed off part of my garden--if I can't have it nobody can.

              "Grendel's had an accident

         ((she whispered))

                      -so may you all..."

Week Seven:

I shouldn't have touched the garden.

Week Eight:

I've cleared out seven or eight of the larger palm trees to make room for the new plants. My fingernails are bleeding but the powder seems to help some. I can't really feel them anymore anyway. Most of my time is spent feeding the plants. They've been providing for me and I must provide for them. They need me.

Plant food grows scarce. There would seem to be fewer and fewer animals on the island. Fewer and fewer every week.

Week Nine:

There was screaming in the jungle today. A scream and then many screams.

"...Little Ghosts..."
little ghosts screaming




Feed no more.

Week Ten:

This chaos is killing me... ((and i wanna be free, i just wanna be free)) There's more food here than I thought. We're doing fine. We're going to be just fine...

I could smell sex today. I remembered to do what you told me. I remembered what you told me. I hid.

I hid and I waited.

Week Eleven:

The plants have gotten tall. I've knotted a few of the larger ones together for shelter. It's the sun I can't stand. The goddamned light. I don't leave the garden much during the day.

I go out at night, though. I go out almost every night to see what I can see. The island sings to me at night, it buzzes with ideas and gurgles with possibilities. ((We all float down here)) It chokes with possibilities. We all float around on this island. We float and because we float we don't have to think.

How did I come to be here? You've always been here.

Week Twelve:

I give praise to why this is.
I thank-you for how this is.
I love you for where this is.
I will feed you because of all that this is.

Week Thirteen:

I heard singing this morning. It was beautiful, stretching words tightly across the sunrise. Song danced without a partner. Timing the tide and tanning the tropical.

I was sorry when it stopped.

I was sorry but I wasn't surprised.

Week Fourteen:

"When it all comes down to dust
I will kill you if I must,
I will help you if I can.

When it all comes down to dust
I will help you if I must,
I will kill you if I can."


Week Fifteen:

There's nothing left. I've walked the island the last four nights and there's nothing left. She is unhappy with me. I've let them all down.

I don't deserve her...she is a forgiving god. She wants me still, to come to her.

She wants me to come home.

                                  "And when they said

                         ...I wondered what they meant..."

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