I Went To College In Vermont, And

The Seals Stupidly Dive Off Rocks Into Swirling Black Water, Barking Mindlessly. The Zookeepers Feed Them Dead Fish. A Crowd Gathers Around The Tank, Mostly Adults, A Few Accompanied By Children. On The Seals' Tank A Plaque Warns: Coins Can Kill——if Swallowed, Coins Can Lodge In An Animal's Stomach And Cause Ulcers, Infections And Death. Do Not Throw Coins In The Pool. So What Do I Do? Toss A Handful Of Change Into The Tank When None Of The Zookeepers Are Watching. It's Not The Seals I Hate——it's The Audience's Enjoyment Of Them That Bothers Me.

There Are No More Barriers To Cross. All I Have In Common With The Uncontrollable And The Insane, The Vicious And The Evil, All The Mayhem I Have Caused And My Utter Indifference Toward It I Have Now Surpassed. My Pain Is Constant And Sharp And I Do Not Hope For A Better World For Anyone, In Fact I Want My Pain To Be Inflicted On Others. I Want No One To Escape, But Even After Admitting This There Is No Catharsis, My Punishment Continues To Elude Me And I Gain No Deeper Knowledge Of Myself; No New Knowledge Can Be Extracted From My Telling. This Confession Has Meant Nothing.

Unless You're The Director On The Movie, Or Putting Up The Money For The Movie, You Really Don't Have A Lot Of Control.

...there Is An Idea Of A Patrick Bateman, Some Kind Of Abstraction, But There Is No Real Me, Only An Entity, Something Illusory, And Though I Can Hide My Cold Gaze And You Can Shake My Hand And Feel Flesh Gripping Yours And Maybe You Can Even Sense Our Lifestyles Are Probably Comparable: I Simply Am Not There.

A Child Should Never Even Think About Being A "good Son." A Parent Decides That Fate For The Child. The Parent Encourages That. Not The Child Himself. And The "perfect Dad"? I Shudder At Thinking What That May Be.