November 12th, 1973

Life is such a thoroughly personal, inward experience that it amazes me when human lives make connections.

What are these human differences that absolutely prohibit me from making contact with my parents? It tears at me– I need to understand the forces behind this situation. I can’t make it sink into my blank tapes and cease to be. I have no language to communicate with them. I cannot even accept my father’s existence anymore. I couldn’t hear his voice because he’s dead to me. I’m not sure when or exactly how it happened– but during a certain period of time, my father ceased to exist.

My mother’s death is not coming so easy. A part of me is screaming for her life. 

In a way– I have spent the past four years murdering my parent’s existence in my brain. 

Will it haunt me forever– or will it be another smooth even change–?

What will be the result of all this?