945 lines
34 KiB
Plaintext
945 lines
34 KiB
Plaintext
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OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO oOOOO OOOO. OOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
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OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" .OOOOOO OOOOOo OOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
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OOOO oOOOOOOO OOOOOOO. OOOO oOOOO
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OOOO .OOOO OOOO OOOOOOOOo OOOO OOOO"
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OOOO oOOOO OOOO OOOO "OOOO. OOOO OOOOo .OOOO'
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OOOO .OOOO" OOOO OOOO OOOOoOOOO "OOOO. oOOOO
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OOOO oOOOOOOO..OOOO OOOO "OOOOOOO OOOOoOOOO"
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OOOO .OOOO"""OOOOOOOO OOOO OOOOOO "OOOOOOO'
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OOOO oOOOO ""OOOO OOOO "OOOO OOOOOO
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|---------------------------------------------------------------------------|
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| There Ain't No Justice |
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| #129 |
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|---------------------------------------------------------------------------|
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- Going Crazy in the Suburbs 14: -
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"Honesty Will Butcher Me"
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by Hairy
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friday the 13th - i didn't even realize.
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you're probably still reeling from the last psychopathic (or is that,
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'psychpathetic'?) letter you got, but this one has gotten too big, i have to
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get rid of it. sorry.
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i was rather intoxicated when i wrote half of this, so you'll do well to
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ignore most everything. i get all uninhibited when i'm drunk, and i don't seem
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to make good decisions about what people should and shouldn't hear. so, i
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often times tell the truth - and we all know this by now, don't we? - no one
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wants to hear the truth.
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/////////////////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
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yesterday made me feel guilty, foolish, intolerably useless.. i don't blame
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you for any of this, i blame my own personality disorders. i wish i could
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explain.
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sorry.
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i'm lower today than i have been in quite some time. allow me to illustrate:
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i'm too apathetic to drink.
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it's like that game, the limbo? how low can you go..?
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bye.
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/////////////////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
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i took a shower and stood there motionless for what felt like days.
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i sat on the floor, dressing, for two hours.
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i drew my legs up to my chest,
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bent my head down onto my knees,
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and forced back tears.
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what's the matter with me? pms..?
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i ate two tacos, sat in some parking lot in the rain and read another two
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chapters of kerouac. by the time i was done, i felt completely pointless - i
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wasn't sad anymore, i wasn't anything. back to normal, i guess, back to
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unfeeling idleness.
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aaaagh.
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the ants are back, i'm bored again, listening to the score from "the crow"..
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jesus christ, i whine too much. all i do is whine, whine, whine. aaaagh.
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drank half the remaining vodka - i've got but a night's worth left..
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hello..
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i called you some minutes or hours ago. i can't remember what was said -
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something about a loan and a new car, '87.. i'm not on the shitlist, contrary
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to popular belief..
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i watched naked lunch again, this time intoxicated, and it made much more
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sense. i would suggest it to anyone..
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i think this letter was supposed to convey my feelings towards you, deep
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soul-searching kinds of things, but i don't think that's going to come out
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now.
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let's begin as if it's the beginning:
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jill called me in the middle of the deep afternoon sometime recently, perhaps
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only two days ago - but who can really be sure? we tripped off to some movie,
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as far as i know. i drove - the poor girl - feet aching and blistered from
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those hard hard days at the office.. it's not easy, is it dear?
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at any rate..
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i drove her there, wherever it was, and sat two seats away. after two hours
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or more she moved and sat next to me, whimpering soft furry noises until i
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touched her. i put my arm around her and touched her left ear in some kind of
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soft way, some kind of "i know you" way.. i soon got sick of torturing myself
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and put an end to that.
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we drove back to her house, i dropped her off. a kiss on the neck and a hug
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in the car, "good bye" and nothing more.
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mmm.
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off to prague - so it goes, so it goes..
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been thinking of you, but i suppose i'm not drunk enough to be honest.
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i had a realization while driving jill home. this was, in fact, more of a
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remembrance than a realization, but you can call it what you will. i felt it
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brewing inside of me for a week or more, but i never gave it time or air,
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never let it develop into anything more. in the car with her there, it just
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erupted. it was something about.. what was it? how careers and relationships
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and everything else are infantile, futile.. until you find your purpose, your
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happiness.. it all comes down to that, yes? hobo or executive or somewhere in
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between.. it doesn't matter what, you first need to know what you want - you
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need something to work towards, some goal. even you have a goal, even if teli
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finds massage shoddy (he's known several people, he says. you'll need three
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jobs to make a living, he says.).
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whatever: i have no goal. i have nothing. i sit here, i wait. i wait for
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something, for anything. i long for relationships, love.. compassion or
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purpose. what difference does it make? it's just idle time, time spent
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waiting..
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this was all explained to jill. she replied with silence, which is, i
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suppose, all i can expect from anyone.
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i'm glad i'm not on the shitlist. i don't know how i would have dealt with
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that.. i know we're not close, but i somehow rely on you to always be there.
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i guess this makes me another miserable loser fuck, another one of those
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people who use you and throw you away - - i'm sorry. i don't mean it in that
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way.
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honesty is so fucking treacherous.
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i need more to drink. be right back.
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listening to "this mortal coil" is bad for you. avoid it.
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listen - this letter was supposed to say something, supposed to make
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something apparent and clear. i doubt it has. let me put this to rest for
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myself:
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i want to touch, hold, care for you like someone.. i don't know.. someone
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special, someone close. i want to spend time, dead sweet bitter time with
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you.. futile time when nothing is done, nothing is accomplished. i want to
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touch your cheek as someone intimate would..
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i want all of these things and more - i have for a long long time now. i
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butchered these feelings because of chet & jill both. now they're both gone,
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what am i to do? the thoughts creep out of the dark, they swirl around in my
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childish mind..
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reality & sanity, desperation & fear of the gamble - that's what stops me
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from telling you all of these things. i guess i've made it all obvious with
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the pages, the pages and pages..
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honesty will butcher me.
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listen, listen:
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i was cold and short with you the other night, the night i came to visit &
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kill your car. i'm sorry. i paced around the room before i left, i kept
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asking myself, "should i see her?" sometimes, you know, sometimes.. sometimes
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i want to torture myself..
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i shouldn't have gone to see you. you fell asleep and i sat there - tangled
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up in thoughts and feelings and millions of other things - wanting to kiss
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your cheek, stroke your hair.. wanting to run a thousand miles away into the
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night.. thinking about things that were best, for your sanity and mine,
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thinking about this and that and the other thing.. so twisted up, at war with
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myself..
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what does it provoke, but nothing? lack of action, dead feelings, pointless
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emotions.. feelings unacted upon..
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"you won't get what you deserve
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you are what you take."
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jesus, jesus, what am i doing? these things are far and beyond what you
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should be hearing - - i shouldn't clutter your life with this bullshit, this
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worthlessness, this stale air..
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i can't deny that i dream of you.
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sorry. justin.
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teli apparently hates me. ah, well. it's about time, i guess. long overdue..
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mm.
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nothing to say.
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not feeling very well lately, really sinking further and further inside
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myself.
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i should probably just go to the batcave and drink myself into oblivion, but
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i'm being too realistic for that - i know i need money to eat with, all that
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crap.
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almost out of vodka, the liquor store's closed.. what to do? i guess i've got
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another night's worth around here somewhere.
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mm.
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i haven't written soddy poetry in three months. i bet you're relieved.
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cold & raining & the ceiling leaking.. this intolerable drip, drip,
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dripping.. it's been leaking six months, a year..? who knows.. there's not
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enough money to fix it.
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hello, poor white trash.
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i have to go to another unemployment interview this thursday and pretend i
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care what they're saying. the extreme pleasure of it all..
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i dream more lately, if you can call it that. it's all sexual bullshit - i
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guess my needs aren't being satisfied. ah, well. fuck my needs.
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i've been sitting in the tub for hours taking hot baths. i scrub myself to
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death with this damned loofah sponge i bought. i'm so utterly worthless.
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i've got to get out of here. i've got to do something. i'm falling apart,
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these walls are becoming my coffin.
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look at these sentences, "i've been.. i've got.. i have.. i haven't.. i
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should.." why am i so self-centered?
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nancy called the other day and tried to give her car to my answering machine.
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"call me back, and you can have it," she told the thing. it didn't seem to
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care - it never called. where's it going to go, anyway? where does it
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belong..
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that's what i'll do, i'll talk about myself indirectly. that always works. it
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makes everything more interesting to read, no more "i this, i that"
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nonsense..
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i'm probably secretly concerned about people running away from me in droves -
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close friends and everyone else - but you don't need to know about that. all
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i do is complain, complain, complain to you. it makes me feel really
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pathetic.
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freezing to death.
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bye.
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the phone refuses to ring.
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i'm almost out of vodka. i don't know if i'm going to make it through the
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night. i may have to indulge in a bit of whiskey to make due.
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calgon, take me away.
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i keep waiting, waiting, waiting for someone to come and take me away from all
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this, all this despair and misery. when am i going to learn?
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"there's nothing more dangerous
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than a man with nothing to lose
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nothing to live for
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and nothing to prove"
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i'm so alone.
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i guess i have no one to blame but myself, but i still sit here repeating the
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words. "i'm so alone."
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nothing changes - nothing ever changes.
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heather calls and calls, i ignore her. "i'm so alone" - and here i sit,
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ignoring people. am i trying to be strong? am i trying to prove something..?
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"how long? how long..?"
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gnu, gnu, gnu.
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sunday morning - woke up and watched the cartoons. liquor store still isn't
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open. nothing changes. dimwitted desperation and the absurd notion to buy a
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tent & sleeping bag..
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so, this is the time when everyone will leave me.
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i could associate it to the waves in the ocean, a million different things..
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it doesn't make it hurt any less. maybe they'll all come back, maybe they'll
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be replaced by others - nothing takes the bitterness out of my mouth.
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andy sings about the fire in the reptile house, what do i do? rephrase the
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same bloated thoughts over, and over, and over..
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have another cigarette.
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maybe i should be looking on the "bright side".. maybe i should be working to
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build my own place, whittle my own hole out, give myself a home.. what's the
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point to it all? destroyed by time and wind and change, change, change,
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change, change.. the more questions you answer, the more questions there are
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to be asked. where does it go? deeper and deeper inside of yourself, farther
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and farther down.. there's no way out.
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am i supposed to play this game until natural death intervenes? somebody,
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anybody.. pass me a clue.
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---
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there's no way to win.
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---
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it's several hours later. i'm off to new york to buy vodka, and whatever else
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anyone tries to sell me. maybe i'll call you while i'm there..
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"just let go.."
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---
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it's after midnight. i wandered around aimlessly in new york for six hours,
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read, ate, read, wandered. liquor stores are apparently closed in new york on
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sundays - very odd. the bars are all open, though.
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i guess it didn't matter - i came home to a new bottle sitting on the desk.
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thanks, mom.
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i've got this notion to get work on a ship, any ship. anything. i've got to
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leave this place..
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i'm falling apart, you know? i can feel it more and more - i'm certainly not
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getting any better.
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having urges to just unplug the phone all together - - what's the point,
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really?..
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i need something to eat.
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---
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who cares, right? who cares.
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---
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it's monday afternoon now, 1:30ish. they're canceling my car insurance
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because they forgot to send me a bill last month.
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it's all going downhill.
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lying awake in bed for hours, counting all the mistakes i've made. figuring
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out which of my possessions are at teli's house, trying to decide how to get
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them back. trying to find a way to feed myself with this tiny amount of
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money.
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how many "close friends" do i have? jill is off limits, you're just paper,
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jim isn't really "close"..
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YOU'D THINK I'D BE USED TO THIS BY NOW - - i spent the first ten years of my
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life talking to myself, anyway..
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i hope you're alright.
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---
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wandered around the mall, forgot to buy more cigarettes. nothing
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accomplished. drank overpriced hot chocolate that tasted too "artistic".
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i stood out in the parking lot staring blankly at the street for many many
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minutes. there were these two children off to my right somewhere, laughing.
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the one kept saying, "frankenstein! frankenstein!" and they'd both laugh. i
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don't know what they were really talking about, but it certainly felt like it
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was aimed at me. you probably know how this feels, yeah? you've got to know..
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wrote this later over the soddy chocolate:
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children dress up as monsters once a year. people reward them based on how
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disturbing they look. i'm a monster every day, what am i going to be for
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halloween?
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i'll be happy - no one would ever recognize me.
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"have you considered a career change," he asks me.
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i'm not coping very well with reality, m. i'm drunk most every night, and
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when i'm not i wish i were. i don't know what i'm running from, myself or all
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of them, but there's nowhere to hide, and no way back.
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it's getting late. i've got to get to the library before it closes. i have no
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idea why, i'm just trying to give myself destinations.
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i think the phone rang last night, but i don't really know. it seemed like it
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happened two or three different times. it would ring, ring, ring, the
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answering machine would get it, and whoever it was would hang up. i wasn't
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drunk, so i'll have to assume this really happened. ah, shit, who knows?
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maybe i was fantasizing.
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jill came by. we were sentimental, and i fell in love with her for the moment.
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i hope everything works out for her.
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teli called. "i'm not pissed at you anymore.. i.. uhh.. i think i need to be
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alone.. umm.. whatever." goodbye, teli. goodbye like all the rest.
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crawling around in my thoughts for days
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it all falls apart
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collapsing in on itself
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again
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and again
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and again
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pushed into insanity
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stripped of spirit and feeling
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beaten by shadowy figures
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their eyes gleaming with hatred
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hearts filled with bitterness
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you are everything you despise
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10/27/95
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lying to myself
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about misplaced dreams
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counting the days
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the hours
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the emptiness
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trying to fill the time
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the voids
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gaps in memories
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vision blotted out by childishness
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skin soft from lack of touch
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it's all downhill
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worthless
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it's all
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hopeless desires
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who am i
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where do i come from
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what does it matter
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10/29/95 (virginia)
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waiting for something to happen
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all these faces that
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i'll never know
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whispers in the afternoon that
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i'm never meant to hear
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i butcher myself with thought
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all seems well
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sacrificing my sanity for
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the whims of others
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again
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and again
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all seems well
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as i lay here failing
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fading
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again
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happy halloween
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---
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taking care of jim in the dark
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sleep turning away love and alcohol
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the deep deep sleep
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i tell them
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plead with them
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"please
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don't hurt him
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please
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my soul not to hurt him"
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alone in this dirty night
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you and i
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alone in this stupor
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in love with you
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laughing
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crying
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"please don't hurt him anymore"
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in my intoxication
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in my unreality
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sleep
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sleep
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sleep away the dizziness
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/////////////////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
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broken
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splintered
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split
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kneeling in fear
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isolation
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emptiness
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corrosion
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poison
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death
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sweating away reality
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in broken churches
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tell me
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tell me
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where is anyone
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anyone
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who cares?
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so much has happened, so little has happened.
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the party turned out to be a big success. i started drinking at 5, the party
|
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started at 10. i remember things pretty clearly up until 11:30, after that..
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who knows?
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i kicked a hole in chris' kitchen cabinet - i have no idea why. i just
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clobbered the thing.
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after the party i got amazingly depressed and ran away into the virginia
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night. i found a payphone and left a twenty minute message on jill's
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answering machine.
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hmm.
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i went to the limelight last night and saw "the jim rhodes circus sideshow."
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what fun. i was severely drunk, and someone told me i was, "sexist and
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shallow." i think i agreed with her, and she got pissed at me. i left.
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i called jill's machine again and left another twenty minute message. i made
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sure to insult her properly, that way i'd be sure she'd call me back at some
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point.
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i just got home now, it's two in the afternoon the next day. jill called and
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left a thirty minute message on my machine, detailing the downfalls of her
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life. surprise - jill's on cocaine now. she's cheating on what's his face,
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chris, with some other guy named john. blah, blah, blah. no point, no
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purpose. blah, blah, blah. doesn't know what to do with her life, the typical
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things..
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the drugs really bother me. i'm not really opposed to drugs you can learn
|
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from, like lsd.. but jesus christ, cocaine is right up there with heroine and
|
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crack.. the whole idea really disgusts me. i love her more than i can
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probably express, but i'd rather just pretend she doesn't exist if she's
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going to fork her life over to that kind of nonsense.
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this is all pretty hilarious, coming from a semi-alcoholic.
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well, i don't know. i don't drink that much, and i find things in it, buried
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thoughts - - i don't know. i'm being a hypocrite, i guess. what else is
|
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new..?
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i told myself i'd start looking for a job today. i wonder if i will.
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i wish i could solve all her problems somehow - i wish i could make her happy
|
|
again, how she was when i first met her.. i know i'm not responsible for the
|
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way she is now, but i do feel like i've molded at least a little of it, made
|
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her outlook on things at least a bit darker..
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fuck.
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i think i sucked a transsexual's dick last night at the limelight, but one
|
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can never really be sure of these things. maybe i was fantasizing - i was
|
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amazingly drunk.
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mmm.
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some albino boy kept offering me something called "k". i have no idea what
|
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"k" is, but the albino boy tells me it's a lot like ecstasy. i told jill
|
|
about this in my drunken message, and she told my machine all about "k". jill
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knows everything there is to know about drugs now, and it turns my stomach.
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you understand this? of course you do, you must.
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listening to the phone ringing for minutes
|
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consoling myself
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she's there
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she'll answer
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she cares
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maybe you should have more to drink
|
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young man
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just trying to preserve sanity,
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you know?
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trying to hold on to something
|
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anything
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some sliver of meaning
|
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some tattered, worn out remnant
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i'll never learn,
|
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i guess
|
|
constantly chasing these broken dreams
|
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time pissed away into madness
|
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absurdity
|
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useless artistry
|
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just pick up the phone
|
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it doesn't matter what you say
|
|
say anything
|
|
say nothing
|
|
i just need to know you'll be there
|
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|
this damned ring waiting here
|
|
motionless
|
|
silver from the past
|
|
aching for your fingers
|
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too stupid to scream
|
|
too proud to cry
|
|
too tired to care
|
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nothing can make me whole again
|
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/////////////////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
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once passionate romances crumble
|
|
pass away into loneliness
|
|
into reckless absurdity and
|
|
agonized dreams of times gone by
|
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what's happened? mm..
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|
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jill calls me every few days now. she wants me to move to new orleans with
|
|
her, for some reason, i don't know why. i doubt the whole thing is even
|
|
rooted in reality, but i told her that i'd move if it ever materialized. not
|
|
like i have any reason not to..
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she's "broken up" with the cocaine dealer, because he wasn't responsible
|
|
enough with money. now she's stuck with two one-way, non-refundable,
|
|
non-transferable plane tickets to london. she knows what she's going to do
|
|
about as much as i know what she's going to do.
|
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|
|
she's having cravings for cocaine now, which is a perfectly lovely thing to
|
|
have, i'm sure..
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|
i didn't realize tkk was playing. mmm.
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|
|
they raised my credit limit, so i have another $800 or so to jerk around
|
|
with. i love credit. i love the ability to buy something, and make "easy,
|
|
monthly payments" for the rest of my life.
|
|
|
|
listening to the eurythmics.
|
|
|
|
don't be alarmed, the spinner hasn't been pointing at you in awhile.
|
|
|
|
it's almost the middle of november and i've barely looked for a job. not even
|
|
half-assed looked.. something along the lines of 1/8th-ass looked..
|
|
|
|
i took the alcoholic quiz when i was sober, and i got 3 out of 12. the test
|
|
seems very stacked anyway, i think the only pertinent question is, "have you
|
|
tried to quit - but can't?" i took it again when i was a bit more inebriated,
|
|
and i managed to get 6 out of 12. i was either exaggerating, or being more
|
|
honest. in any event - i'm not an alcoholic. this isn't denial - i've got
|
|
nothing to deny. i mean, i admit to having weird bisexual fantasies, why
|
|
should i deny alcoholism..?
|
|
|
|
wondering what the future holds..
|
|
|
|
i've got $600 saved. i don't know how it happened. the checks keep arriving,
|
|
i keep cashing them.. i don't understand it. my standard of living has been
|
|
reduced to.. shit.. it's probably more on the "poor white trash" scale where
|
|
it should be.
|
|
|
|
moving seems amazingly easy. drive the car down there, sell it for $200 or
|
|
so. cancel the insurance. find a cheap room somewhere - maybe $400 a month.
|
|
get a shit job, anything. i can shine shoes and make $125 a week, and that's
|
|
all it would take - money for the room, money for food. lots of miserable
|
|
places in the french quarter, cheap rents.. i guess i'd have to figure in the
|
|
alcohol intake, but that's only $12 a week or so, on a bad week.
|
|
|
|
i've got to go, i've got to get out of here.
|
|
|
|
i've also got to go buy bottled water, cold medicine, and a 6-pack of sprite
|
|
to mix with the vodka. i'm due to go to some party at beth's house and drink
|
|
myself into oblivion.
|
|
|
|
"sweet dreams are made of these
|
|
who am i to disagree?"
|
|
|
|
hope things are well with you. maybe i'll come see you one of these days, if
|
|
i'm welcome.
|
|
|
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/////////////////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
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\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\////////////////////////////////////
|
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|
|
|
|
watching life skate around
|
|
like floating around in intoxication
|
|
help me
|
|
save me
|
|
some drunken orgy
|
|
it's absurdity
|
|
it's distraction
|
|
life on the skids
|
|
it's happy birthday
|
|
life in broken dreams
|
|
eyes that don't care
|
|
cry
|
|
cry
|
|
cry
|
|
into a thousand arms
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
/////////////////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
|
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\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\////////////////////////////////////
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
i remember saying that i was going to stop writing to you for awhile. oh,
|
|
well. i guess i was wrong.
|
|
|
|
jill is damned serious about getting to new orleans. so serious, in fact,
|
|
we're driving there thanksgiving-ish for two weeks. she wants to look around
|
|
and see if it's really what she wants, all that. if things work out and we
|
|
can find a cheap place, we'll end up moving. the reality of all this is too
|
|
much for me to deal with, so i'm just not. i'll just handle things as they
|
|
come along, i guess. i don't want to get myself all excited about finally
|
|
leaving, because then i'll end up getting crushed when it doesn't happen.
|
|
|
|
of course, this is not without its problems. for starters, this is the big
|
|
stepping-off point for me. once i move, i'm not a little kid anymore - i'm
|
|
some sort of adult with too much responsibility. the stress of this is
|
|
grueling, but there's just no way to escape it. it's not like i really want
|
|
to grow up, but i've got no choice in the matter.
|
|
|
|
the other part that's really playing hell with my mind is the fact that if
|
|
things go wrong, jill can still run home to mommy (or daddy in virginia). i
|
|
don't have this option - once i leave, the folks are off with great haste to
|
|
florida for the glorious retirement in the sun. quick & dirty: i've got
|
|
nowhere to run. this is going to make me grow up too damned fast, i can feel
|
|
it.
|
|
|
|
i have to keep reminding myself that i can't be romantic with jill. we had a
|
|
big discussion about this recently. she wanted to be sure that we were both
|
|
going to be calm and adult about things - things like, say, bringing people
|
|
over to wherever we're living for tea & biscuits & torrid sex. the idea is,
|
|
jill & i are supposed to be friends and nothing more - no attachment. it's
|
|
not supposed to sting, right? she's already admitted that it'd make her
|
|
incredibly jealous, and we all know how moody i get - - this is going to be a
|
|
stumbling block, i know that.
|
|
|
|
of course, all this happens right when i decide i'm going to look for a job.
|
|
i'm sitting here with fax numbers, addresses, a pile of resum�s.. the big
|
|
fear is that we're going to talk about new orleans for the next three months,
|
|
never do anything, and i'm suddenly going to run out of money and still be
|
|
unemployed. this really nags me. it's not so bad now, seeing how serious she
|
|
is, but the idea is still there.
|
|
|
|
it's all a big "what if?"
|
|
|
|
in other news, i've made wonderful strides towards "the meaning of life." i
|
|
don't know how it happened, but it all became amazingly clear. i'm going to
|
|
write it all down in some kind of flowchart and hang it on the wall, so i
|
|
don't forget.
|
|
|
|
here's the condensed version: you're born, you grow up. your life is
|
|
meaningless, and this ultimately leads to general depression. the problem, of
|
|
course, is finding meaning in a completely meaningless world, finding out who
|
|
you are. once you have that, everything else becomes more bearable. you find
|
|
yourself by trying different things, going different places - new experiences
|
|
open up new parts of yourself. you have to try not to be distracted - you
|
|
can't end up spending years chasing after idle romances or drugs or money or
|
|
whatever - - but you can't pick away at everything in your life and label it
|
|
"distraction," or you end up laying in bed for years, rolling around in
|
|
repetitious thoughts. it's all just the search to find yourself.
|
|
|
|
gee, i'm so deep.. blah.
|
|
|
|
i don't know, this is painfully obvious. i feel like an oaf typing it out.
|
|
whatever - it doesn't matter. this realization gives me some kind of hope, so
|
|
i can't brutalize it too much.
|
|
|
|
careers seem amazingly stupid now because of this - i'm more than willing to
|
|
work at a gas station for rent money - - anything, anything - - if it'll lead
|
|
me someplace deeper inside of myself, somewhere i've never been. ramble,
|
|
ramble, ramble.
|
|
|
|
it's impossible to find "the new orleans times-picayune" in new jersey, just
|
|
so you know. i wish i knew how much the "average" rent was. actually, i'd
|
|
just settle for knowing the minimum wage..
|
|
|
|
the drive down there is going to be preposterous. we're going to drive her
|
|
rattle-trap ford escort, and i'm going to get stuck driving the majority of
|
|
the way. 1300 miles, oh.. the joy.
|
|
|
|
well, it's going to be an adventure, all right. i'm looking forward to it -
|
|
to anything. i need a change.
|
|
|
|
hmmm.
|
|
|
|
i was sitting there on the couch earlier today with my mother (really!
|
|
imagine that!), and she was flipping through a magazine. she came to this ad
|
|
for smirnoff vodka, and she says, "oh, that's what i can put in your stocking
|
|
this year.." i wish i knew what she honestly thought about my religious use
|
|
of alcohol, but i'd never be able to get it out of her. maybe i'll sick jill
|
|
on her.
|
|
|
|
dead can dance keeps skipping.
|
|
|
|
if i'd never become unemployed, i'd never have been able to save enough money
|
|
to do this. how strange.
|
|
|
|
her car's going to die at least once during the trip. it's just a fact of
|
|
life. i wonder if she's aware of this.
|
|
|
|
nancy keeps sending me gifts, i don't know how to take it. she mailed me that
|
|
$5 bukowski short story today, "there's no business" - the one that crumb
|
|
illustrated. i don't know what she expects me to do. i feel sorry about the
|
|
whole mess, honestly, and i wish she'd get a grasp on the "it's over"
|
|
concept. it seems like it'd be better for her that way..
|
|
|
|
and that other tart, the one from new york - she keeps calling. she doesn't
|
|
leave messages anymore, but she calls twice a week. i guess she's waiting for
|
|
the one magical day when i'm going to answer my phone by mistake. she's going
|
|
to have one hell of a wait. i actually pasted together a new message for my
|
|
machine for her, made up of different soundbites from "jeopardy." it's alex
|
|
talking over the "final jeopardy" theme, saying things like, "welcome to the
|
|
wonderful world of 'call screening'," and "if you want to talk to me, you're
|
|
going to have to leave a message." the message is too damned long, though,
|
|
and i can't stand listening to it. it's a shame.
|
|
|
|
i went to a photobooth a few weeks ago and took pictures of myself. i think i
|
|
wrote something about this..? everyone took the pictures. i should have
|
|
mailed you one, that photo with my boot in it makes me cringe.
|
|
|
|
my god, i'm feeling literary today.
|
|
|
|
mm.
|
|
|
|
well, i think i've filled your life with enough drivel for now..
|
|
|
|
take care of yourself.
|
|
|
|
justin.
|
|
|
|
|
|
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|
|
|
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