It snowed last night. But it snows every night, here. If only the sun would bolster itself and deign to shine on me, I might be saved for one more day. I have been trapped here for two months. I am fortunate that there are provisions, and paper, and pencils, and of course I am most lucky to have found this abandoned shack, though most of the provisions are foods I do not enjoy. I will save the worst of these to the end, and eat them only when I must. I hope to be rescued before then. I know now that mountain climbing is a stupid sport. Whoever invented it was a fool. Yet not so much of one as I, I fear.

I have found a hobby. Since I have had to urinate outside, in the snow, I have noticed that it makes the snow stick together in large, yellow clumps. So I have been making urine snow men. I have not named them, and I will not. I am dangling my toes over the shores of madness. I do not know how much longer I will last. 

There is little game here, and sparse vegetation. I am doing my best to craft the things I need from what little I have available, though it seems that my body’s own excretions are the only material I have in abundance. What a miserable vacation. Next year I will go to Miami.

I realized last week that I had, in a fit of insane despair, crafted a dog from my own feces. I named him Home. When I came to my senses, I threw him outside and left him to the wind’s devices. The next morning, he was still standing in front of my door. I have decided to keep him. I know that he is not real. He does not bark, often, though. And company is hard to come by here. 

I have not written in a while. I have been keeping myself occupied with Home, and my snow men made of urine. I wanted to tell you what happened today. I was making a new snow man, and I heard a sound. I walked as far down the mountain as I dared, in hopes of finding rescue. I came upon a cave which seemed to be the source of the noise. I hoped it would be inhabited, but its only denizens were two bears having sex. I watched them for several minutes. Then, when they were fully involved, I killed them both with a spear I crafted from one of the few trees I have seen here. I am proud that my spear worked, and I am proud to be eating such noble beasts. Life is bearable, today. My cabin smells of roasted bear. I have not spoken to Home all day, though earlier he was whining outside the door. If he continues to whine, I will give him some bear meat. God be praised.

Christmas. I have made gifts for my friends. For Home, I made a collar from my own hair. He is a fine figure of a dog in his new collar. For my snow men, I crafted fecal carrots. They were much pleased to have noses, but immediately began complaining of the smell emanating from Home, and from themselves. We all had a hearty chuckle at that.

Home has been complaining of his deep loneliness for so long, that I have undertaken to make him a mate. She will be a collie, with brown fur, of course. We have jointly decided to name her Peanut. Home is very pleased.

I have run out of bear meat. There is darkness all around me. I am trapped in a cabin on the highest mountain of Hell’s dark domain. My only friend is a dog named Home, and his mate, Peanut, whom I’ve crafted from my own feces, and several snow men I’ve made with my urine, though I would only call them acquaintances. Home has completely lost interest in me, endeavoring instead to spend all of his time with his new bride. I fear that there will be puppies soon, and how will we feed them? There is nothing for me here but cold and sorrow. As far as provisions, all I have left is 16 cans of lima beans, from the original stores left in this cabin by the presence who dwelt here before me. I am running low on floss. I miss my family, I miss so much. Whosoever finds this journal, know that you have trespassed on the soil of madness. Know that a man was broken here. 

Home and I have had a falling out. He has come to the erroneous conclusion that I want to eat him. He has felt this way ever since the unfortunate disappearance of Peanut. Lies. All lies. He awoke screaming last night, saying that he had felt someone basting him. I tried to convince him that it was one of the snow men, but he would not listen. I am not speaking with him anymore. Let him stew in his own juices for awhile, then we will see.

I have eaten Home. I could stand the hunger no longer. I ran out of stores long ago. I can hear the snow men murmuring outside, wondering who will be next. If only I had the strength to take my own life, to sacrifice myself instead of these poor, witless creatures. I fear that they will rise against me. I keep the fire burning in case I need to melt them. They fear fire, and because of its blessing, they fear me. God save me. 

I am trapped inside my cabin by the detestable snow men. They have realized that it was I who ate Home and his mate. They are threatening to cast me out into the cold to die. But I am not afraid. I made them. I can unmake them. I ran out of lima beans days ago. I have eaten all of my own hair. Times are dark, but I will survive. I have plans to eat my left arm, if I must. I will hold out as long as I can.

I am saved! I will tell you how it came to be. I was asleep in the bed I crafted from my own feces late last night when I heard much commotion outside. I jumped up and ran outside to investigate. There were strange creatures there, which I did not recognize. They were  bothering my snow men. They gave off the foulest stench I have ever known, and had to hold their own noses to stand it. One of them spoke to me, and I immediately killed him. Then I killed his companion. I have grown paranoid since the incident with the snow men’s rebellion. They were delicious. I can survive days from their meat. 

I no longer dream of salvation. I have found my home here, on this mountain. I have become very resourceful. I will die here, surrounded by my own creations, but I will have my dream of the world I once knew, and my mastery of the world I have made. And you who read this, what do you have?

I have taken one of the snow men as my bride. I have named her Darla, after my beloved mother. What a time we had on our wedding night. Darla seemed a little cold at first, but I soon warmed her up. We made love for hours, until we passed into an exhausted slumber. When I awoke, she was gone, leaving nothing but a puddle on the floor. I will take another bride tomorrow. 

I have not been wise in my labors. I ran out of snow men last night, and I lack the strength to make more. Will spring never open its wings and spread over this accursed mountain? There is nothing for me to eat and I have grown distant and angry in my boredom. I fear soon that I will attempt to make my way down the mountain and I will surely die trying. If only I had not eaten Home, he was always so levelheaded. To think, this terrible ordeal all began because I turned 40 and was going bald. I should have just bought a Harley.