Today I wore my shirt bunched up around my stomach with a single smear of dirt on my otherwise immaculate face. I think it makes me look savage, but not ugly savage; a pretty savage. Like a wild, sexy horse.
I practiced âcavorting in the surf,â for two hours this morning, and I really think I have it nailed. As the sun fell behind me--its rays outlining my soft body in an aura of sparkling light and water--I think I actually felt everything go into slow motion.
I would feel like such a pretty, pretty princess if a poor diet and prolonged malnutrition didnât have me shitting liquid into a ditch every two hours.
Whatâs up, Journal?
Everybody here is so into their personal drama. Itâs pretty weird, I guess. Thereâs no room for a fat guy in all that stuff, though. Oh no, the fat guy canât be involved in any romantic love triangles; heâd just drag everything down, right? Itâd be like, an isosceles love triangle if you put fatty on one end. Speaking of, why have I even gained weight here? Between nebulous monsters and the Others, I run literally eight miles a day and there is nothing to eat here but fish and fruit. Iâve been living like a Californian trophy wife for four years now, dude, and I still look like that guy from Blues Traveler. Itâs not fair. If Sawyerâs gonna keep calling me "Tubbs and Crocket," youâd think somebodyâd hook a dude up with some real food.
Today I got so desperate that I made a makeshift burrito out of leaves and this dead bird I found. It almost tasted like Taco Bell.
I cried for an hour and a half.
Another Stunning Entry in Jackâs Personal Journal of Extreme Significance,
Iâm beginning to worry about morale here on the island. At first, everybody was really all about our emotional connections with each other and banding together, but now it just feels like theyâre phoning it in. I tried talking to Sawyer about our conflicting feelings for Kate, but he told me that he couldnât âgive a flying fuck at the moon,â about my feelings and that I should get back to him when I âknow what that damn smoke monster is.â I tried telling him that the so-called "smoke monster" is really a metaphor for our inner darkness clouding our ability to love, but he just punched me in the chest until I fell unconscious. Doesnât anybody care about my emotions anymore?
Iâm not sure if I liked my daddy or not! THIS IS IMPORTANT.
The Chronicles of John Locke,
The island hasnât spoken to me in weeks now. I begin to worry about our psychic connection. How solid can our relationship really be, if it is so easily shaken? A guy forgets to turn a wheel one god damn time and then itâs the silent treatment for a month. Iâm pretty hard up. Iâve started really noticing that little island off the coast that the Others' facilities were on. It seems like itâs really been working on its appearance lately. Sometimes I look at that pretty little island out there, sitting all perky and tight on the shifting sea, and itâs all I can do to stop myself from canoeing out there and giving it a good hard psychic reaming.
That little bitch. You know she wants it.
Jesus, commitment is hard.
Sawyerâs Diary of Feelings and Crap,
Iâm runninâ outta nicknames. For the last month Iâve just been calling everybody "homo." Donât think nobodyâs finding it all that endearing anymore. Thought Iâd step up my game last week and try something new, but I drew a complete blank and ended up calling Claireâs ghost âchucklenuts.â I think that was from a Jerky Boys CD.
My hair has officially gone from âsexy, primal maneâ to âunattractive, vegan hippy nest.â
Nobody cares how troubled you are when you smell like sweat and old fruit.
So. Journal. Hey.
Why doesnât anybody pay attention to me? I see dead people like Iâm the fuckinâ Sixth Sense
. I travelled back in time to meet my own father like Marty Goddamn McFly. What does it take to get some fucking interesting story-arcs up in this bitch? I think Iâm going to fight a robot assassin from the future tomorrow, thus setting in motion the formation of the last resistance of mankind. If that doesnât work, I just donât even know. I guess Iâll get titty implants. It worked for Kate and Hurley.
A revelation has come to me. After years of confusion and desperation, I believe I finally understand. I believe I finally understand everything, and that is all I have ever asked in return for my many sacrifices. It's perfectly clear now: Jacob was not the island, Richard is. Jacob was an incarnate version of an old god, hidden here in a place where old gods could still exist, not at odds with the modern world outside. Jacob was the avatar of a god, as was his brother, but it's Richard who is the avatar of the island itself. He cannot die in this place because he is
this place. These long years have had me thinking that I served the island through Jacob, but I was merely serving Jacob because it is what the island, Richard himself, asked of me. It is Richard who should have my loyalty. Richard who is truly important to me. It is Richard who has my answers. And at long last I believe there are
answers to be had...
Nevermind. Richard was just beaten to death by a four-toed, bird-headed giant named ADAM-1. His death was foretold by the talking polar bear totem thatâs apparently been haunting the dreamtime of the Oceanic Six. Also? Turns out Iâm a woman.
What the fuck, guys?
Justâ¦ just what the fuck.
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, where you can share your theories about Lost
with somebody who will really try to pretend to care (sort of).