From the Diary of Neil Young, Mythical Creature, Offspring of an Ettin and a Unicorn. Dated 2.16.08
This is a big desert. I wish I had more water.
My name is Neil Young from the band Buffalo Springfield. You may have heard of it, we only sold over sixteen million albums worldwide, after all. But I digress.
I've been traveling this God-forsaken desert on a page with no name for two weeks already, and I'm just starting to run out of water. This sucks. My throat feels like the fricken' Taj Mahal. And not the pool in the back, either. The really dry parts of the Taj Mahal.
I'm starting this diary in an effort to keep my sanity. Ironically, the only website I can access is an utterly insane one, Illogicopedia, so I am forced to share my attempts at sanity with the insane. Lord give me strength to not be corrupted.
Neil Young and his page with no name, signing out for today.
From the Diary of Neil Young, Conga Dancer Extraordinaire. Dated 2.17.08
And I thought running low on water was bad, I just found out that I used up the last of my heroin reservoir yesterday.
Oy vey.
Neil Young and his page with no name, signing out in a terribly jittery mood.
From the Diary of Neil Young, professional desert roamer. Dated 2.20.08
Sorry for not writing anything in the last few days, heroin withdrawl is a real bitch. But it doesn't matter anymore, because I'm finally happy!
I'm almost out of this god-forsaken desert!
I'm not there yet, but I see a massive ocean on the horizon. It just came out of nowhere, but I know it's real because I can see things moving on it. I couldn't tell what they were from far away, but as I drew nearer I could swear I saw, and I shit you people not, a lanky ginger man ballroom dancing with an ironing board. Yeah, it's a little weird, but it isn't desert, and that's all that matters.
Hmmmm... I wonder if I could reuse heroin. Like, take it out of your blood and put it back in again. It'd probably hurt, but what the hell, I've got all the time in the world and only so much heroin. Brb, signing out.