David B. Applegate

Setting plastic things on fire is interesting. If it's a plastic person, it's always good to watch the face melt. One I burned had glass eyes. Afterward, they were sitting there in this puddle of plastic kind of looking at me and kind of looking at the sky.

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The radio is like a drug which makes me want to commit a crime. Instead, I'll jerk off while I listen. Once, some of my stuff shot all the way across the room onto the light switch. That felt cool, like I was helping to conceive a little sun or something. The one problem with radio is you can't rewind, so I'll never get to do any of this again.

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My brother and I found all these broken VCRs and clock radios and stuff in the quarry. While we were down there looking at that stuff, his head started to kind of blur at the edges. Like becoming static. This made me feel like I'd pretty much freaked out for good, so I stared at a cloud of gnats until I felt mostly okay again.

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You know plants? I hate them. They're so boring to look at, think about, or write about. Instead, I watch a cartoon where all the characters are angry. Every time I watch a cartoon like that, I daydream I'm ready to die.

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There's this warehouse about a mile from where I live. It's locked, but I'm pretty sure it's full of fake teeth. The last time I went there, I brought a little radio and pointed it at the door. The volume knob broke off, so it's kind of quiet, but I hoped the sounds would somehow crack the lock so I could see all the teeth. I sat there until the battery in the radio died, but the lock never came off. I wanted to be unconscious.

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