The Suicide Artist or The Life of Quentin Campbell as an Unsuccessful Snuff Film Part 3

I used to think I had issues.  Then I realized that other people had issues and then I realized we all had issues and then I realized God had issues. I was twenty four when I realized this, and it suddenly made sense why I was trying to off myself.

Two years have passed since Alice.  You remember Alice, don't you?  Her skeleton made a cameo in the film, which is now up to six hours and twenty eight minutes of filming.  Martin wasn't lying when he said we would get this done.  I get the vague sense he hates my guts, though I'm paying him five times more than he made as a producer of art films.  No that I have anything against art films.  I was actually watching Eraserhead while being sucked off by my costume director.

I came when Henry started stabbing the baby.  The baby had it coming I believe.  Pardon the pun.

My issues could be summed up into four main issues:

1. My hypersexuality.  I ama believer in hypersex, as much as I am in hypertext, which while I have no computer abilities i believe to be the waveof the future for postmodern novelists.  I believe I was born with an insatiable desire for pussy and that desire will not be satiated until I have eaten to my heart's content.  Pardon the pun.  My first sexual encounter was proof of this in that I rutted for two hours.  IT was a beautiful girl named Stephanie who had small breasts and I met at the Navidson Institute for the Mentally Ill (House of Leaves, anyone?)  We were watching Shivers and next thing you know my male instrument is heaving inside her moist mouth.  It then completely devolved from there.  In the three years of sexual activity, not including my wife, I have had sixty four sexual encounters with seventy women.  I would ask you not to ask how the number of women is more than the number of encounters- lets say that I have a sweet spot for rutting bisexuals.
2. My suicidal tendencies.  Okay, I'd be lying if I said this was not one of my issues.  I have struggled with life since I was sixteen, when I first tried jumping off that bridge junior year.  When I did it was wanting to escape life.  Now whenever I slit my wrists or smother myself I want to enter death.  I have tried to kill myself more than I can count.  I try aftre a good day of filming.  I try aftre a bad day of filming.  I try when Martin won't let me get away with this artistic liscense.  I try when Martin does get away.  I try after Catherine has an affair.  I try when Catherine has gone the whole day without pleasure between her legs.  I try after I have sex regardless (see Issue #1).  I try when I go a day without sex, which is becoming more and more infrequent.  I try when I've written something good.  I try when I;ve written something bad.  I am always trying to end my life yet never succeeding because I believe I am not supposed to die until the end of this film.  I pray it comes soon.
3. My religion:  So I did get excommunicated eventually after all.  Now I kind of dabble in LSD and worship whatever visions follow.  I'm becoming the next Philip K Dick.  I was never a good Mormon boy in that I enjoyed drugs, violence (see Issue #4) and thinking about sex more than most Mormons should.  I became one of the greatest Faking Deacons in the history of the LDS church.  Currently my religion consists of Revolution #9 being the utterance of Yaldabaoth who is encouraging my cinematic exploits.  Nice going God/Self.
4. My violence.  I never thought of this one except that Courtney, the aforementioned costume director, was wondering what happened to the other eyeball of Martin.  That's a long story right there, I told her.  It went kind of like this:  Martin said we should end the film at six hours and forty five minutes and "have you die already."  I said it was not the appointed time yet for my death according to Yaldabaoth.  He said I was a nutjob and he would do the job himself.  So I took a USB cord from a computer nearby and pulled an Earl of Gloucester on him.  The movie will continue to be at least eight hours now.  I told my costume director this and she began sucking me off yet again.  What made it even better was that Catherine walked in.  "Hello, Catherine.  Care to join us?"  She undressed on the spot and we had a great three way going on.  I told you, my friends, I had the hots for bisexuals.

I also believe my issues are my greatest strengths and are what will see me to death.