textfiles/magazines/TANJ/tanj.132

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 |                           There Ain't No Justice                          |
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 |                                    #132                                   |
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                       - Going Crazy in the Suburbs 15: -
        "It Doesn't Mean a Thing, and it's Never Been Done Any Better.."
                                    by Hairy

flesh hanging
sliding
dripping down
like beaten by time
like drowning in the pressures

each action a carefully planned labor
feet carrying me neither closer
nor farther
just moving a corpse around
never escaping the circumstance


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going completely crazy in new orleans.

jill's one redeeming quality seems to be selfishness - ah well.

we're looking for apartments that are artsy enough for her witchy red wine
soul. i don't know if we'll find a place or not.

if i live with her i'm going to sink into full-fledged alcoholism, but if i
stay in new jersey, i'm just going to die of stagnation.

oh, the decisions.

what a fucking miserable trip.

everything was fine, really, until i got moody and started spouting the
truth. jill wants me both ways - lover when she wants, friend when she finds
someone better. it's always been like this, i don't know what possessed me to
think that it'd ever change.

anyway: i'm the broken cog because i can't play the game by her biased rules.
what else is new?

the sad truth is that i love her, but i can't stand being around her for long
periods of time.

what to do, what to do?

vodka at 10am.


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bullshitted my way through another one of those, "have you really been
looking for work?" unemployment interviews. with that out of the way, i'm set
for money up until i leave for louisiana. i still want to look for a nice
off-the-books job for the month, so that i'll have some extra money. it'd be
nice to eat once in awhile, you know..?

what a fucked up place - louisiana. the first thing we saw when we got into
the state was a burnt out sports car on the side of the road.

half of my life is stacked up against the far wall in boxes. half packed, and
it's only the 5th. am i excited to be leaving..? hmm.

i broke most of my fingernails off, and cut the rest. i look impossibly
boring now, aside from my two-tone hair. i've been really lax about dying it,
there's well over an inch of blond roots. to make matters worse, i got it cut
short recently, so the sides & back are all blond, with this mangled crop of
black hair on top of it all. what a sight.

mardi gras should be entertaining.

i have to dump off my car on some unsuspecting person, as i plan to be an
amazingly poor (though possibly more healthy) bicyclist in new orleans. i
wonder how long the bike will last before they steal it..

packing is such an odd thing. you sit there on the floor half-dressed,
listening to old albums that you've unearthed from some deep corner of your
room. you paw through all these old things, photos & letters & other things..
trying to decide what to take, what to leave, what to trash. it's really
defining, i guess. you get to see what you were, compare it to what you are
now, wonder what you're going to become..

( call about u-haul (make sure it has a tape player). ( find the new orleans
times-picayune and start sending out resum‚s. ( cancel the car insurance,
drive illegally for a month, see if we really get an insurance refund. ( find
a cheap washer & dryer. ( call "st. germain" in new orleans and pester about
their elite little members only club, "the convent". ( figure out how to scam
the new orleans rapid transit authority, so we don't have to pay for the
street car. ( find some cheap, "look! i'm respectable!" clothes for our
preppy new job. ( dishes, towels, silverware, steal more three-pronged forks,
shot glasses. ( remember to send january's rent before the 1st, else we find
ourselves evicted. ( stock up on intoxicating beverages.

hmm.

if anything, this is a sure-fire way to distance myself from annoying
diversionary persons in my life. it should work out perfectly. they'll call
one day, and they'll hear something along the lines of, "..disconnected.. no
further information is available about.." presto! i cease to exist.

well, it sounds like a plan, anyway.

of course, i'm going to get down there and become more lonely than ever, so
i'm going to fill up my life with a whole new batch of diversionary people.
there's just no way to win, i guess.

we got the new address already, but nobody knows where the mail actually
goes. there's four apartments in the house (it's an old converted mansion),
but there are only two mailboxes. it's a mystery.

the biggest problem with the place, i guess, is the mentality. i'm stuck in
the new york mode: look disgruntled, walk either wearily or angrily, stare at
the ground at all times. in new orleans, it's like some kind of an elementary
school picnic in the park. everyone's light and cheery and happy, dancing
around in the breezes. they look right into your eyes and smile these pure,
"i don't have a care in the world!" smiles. i don't really know what to do
about all that, i feel like some kind of escaped zoo creature.

blah, blah, blah.

the typing is so much easier without those fingernails.

the landlord doesn't allow pets, but jill's determined to take her psychotic
cat, anyway. i just can't express to you how much i'm going to love listening
to that crazed animal whine for the 22 hour drive down there.

i should go to new york a few times, if i can afford it, so i can have one
last taste of what real clubs are like. i have serious doubts about the new
orleans night life. bar-hopping is great in theory, but i'm not really sure i
want to base my nighttime entertainment on it.

there are too many homosexuals in new orleans. i can't begin to imagine what
san francisco is like.

stay sane, hmm?


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it's thursday.

i'm too poor to leave the house. i've got less than $1 until (probably) the
14th. i could push my car two or three miles before it ran out of gas.
there's nothing to eat here..

i got extremely drunk last night to deal with all the stress that moving is
causing. it's mostly financial, of course. i could bore you with all the
specifics, but i'll try to make it short: moving vans of the size & nature we
need run (on the average) $1200 for a one-way trip to new orleans. $1200. i
could buy two cars for that price..

anyway: we had haphazardly figured on spending maybe a grand total of $300 or
so ($150 a piece) to get all the things down there - we were grossly
mistaken. now it's a mad scramble to try and find a cheaper way to do things,
a way we can afford.

we could give up all our possessions and take a carload of clothes, but it'd
be nice to have something to sleep on, something to sit on.. you know, all
the big luxuries.

needless to say, the "way we can afford" hasn't surfaced yet. the cheapest
thing there is (including gas & many other bonus expenses) is still $775. not
exactly "thrifty", hmm? what's worse - somehow this has all become my
responsibility. i'm expected to miraculously save the day while jill spends
all of her free time (what little there is between the two jobs) getting her
precious last fucks out of the current emotional toy.

i really don't react well to pressure, this is becoming more & more apparent.

even more stew for the pot: jill doesn't want to leave until sometime towards
the end of january. this is going to make two months we've paid for the place
and still haven't set foot in it. and the best part: the longer we spend
here, the less time we have to find jobs there. if we moved in the very
beginning of january, astronomical moving costs aside, we'd still have a good
three & a half weeks to find jobs before the next month's rent is due.
according to jill's schedule, however, we're going to have to somehow leave
here with two month's worth of rent & utilities, utility deposits, enough
money to eat with for six weeks, and the vast amount of cash to get a truck
in the first place.

maybe she's allergic to change. i don't know. this isn't worth getting
philosophical over. i just want to do it, now. i'm sick of this nonsense.

i've been listening to this cranes cd for the past three days. i bought it
for $3 in savannah, georgia. i feel so traveled.

listen to me whine, whine, whine.

the people i used to work with want me to come to some formal christmas
dinner with them. they put jill up to convincing me. where do they get off..?
they fired me, right? maybe i'm a little fuzzy on this.. what's more, all i
heard after i was gone was how much no one had liked me there, anyway. and
now, now they have the nerve to ask me to a christmas dinner? it's almost
like asking the worms to slither up onto the hook and impale themselves all
of their own free will.

jill called and told me all about it. she tried a bunch of different angles,
i've got to give her credit. "this is the last time they'll get to see you,"
she told me. do i care..? do i want to leave a lasting impression..? maybe
i'll send a photo..

"not even for me?" she asked.

"it's not my job to make you happy anymore," i told her, "i got out of that
line of work."

actually, i'd kind of relish the idea of going. i'd get a special
satisfaction out of sitting there, dead silent, and slowly drinking a glass
of water.

blah, blah, blah.

i look like shit, and i feel about the same. i always find myself in this rut
when i'm around the house.

that tart from new york finally got wise. she realized i was never going to
call her, regardless of how many messages she left. so, she left her address.
this is really tantalizing. i'm dying to write her and blatantly ask her,
"what the fuck do you want from me?" i haven't been in a mean enough mood to
do it yet, but i'm hoping..

oh, but wait! i forgot the best part of the "astronomical cost of moving
vans" story. it goes something like this: if we don't make up our mind soon
(now) about when & how we're going to get there, the rates are going to be
even more absurd. it's one of those, "book well in advance" scenarios.

and, does jill have any input on this..?

"mmm.. i got fucked last night," she tells me.

listen, listen. answer me this: why on earth am i moving halfway across the
country with this person? am i really that crazy? why am i constantly putting
myself in these situations where i always end up getting maimed..?

i'm a fucking idiot, that's just all there is to it. that would explain just
about everything - the two year relationship i had with her.. all of it.

well, i'm feeling hostile all of the sudden. maybe i should write to that
girl in new york..

and while we're on the topic of absurdities, i may as well tell you about
this guy, michael. michael does weather for z100 in new york. i met him at
some party a month or so ago - although i was entirely too drunk to remember
much of the experience. he told me i clapped him on the back, told him "happy
birthday" and gave him a pack of marlboro cigarettes. where i stole them
from, i've no idea. he then tells me that he doesn't smoke, so i promptly
pull out money and give him that.

shortly thereafter, i had an in-depth conversation with jim while vomiting..

after the vomit, i apparently crawled back out into the main room, got onto a
chair, and started scrawling out some hideous poetry. i remember dating it
with the right date, but i put down the year as 1994. michael comes over and
asks me if he can read it, and i'm too drunk to refuse.

now, here's the best part:

michael is now authoritatively telling everyone that he comes across that i'm
some kind of a gifted artist. this is just ridiculous, and everyone knows
that except him. it makes me think of this one quote, though, "art is
anything you can get away with." and if i can convince this na‹ve imbecile
that i'm some kind of artist, how many others can i fool..?

yes, well, anyway, teli's on the phone again, annoying me with questions i
don't feel like answering.

i should go, i should try to find some sanity.


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listening to the eurythmics again..

we finally worked things out, and we're going the extravagantly overpriced
trucking route. at least the damned thing has a cassette player..

i'll have to find the address to the new place. i know the number and all,
but i've got no idea what the zip code is.

i've still got to go buy a futon & comfy office chair. hmm. no money for
that, of course, so we'll exercise our credit potential again..

blah, blah, blah.

not much to say, really. sitting around doing nothing and even less than
that.. sleeping sixteen hours a day to keep from boring myself to death.. i
finally get more money in a few days, so i can actually put more gas in the
car. wheeeeeee! such excitement..

put my car up for sale in this coming sunday's paper. i wonder what kind of
idiot is going to buy it - probably someone as cheap as i am. the ad was just
blunt & straightforward, something like, "'81 honda, works, 155k miles,
cheap. $300." what more is there, really..?

"everybody's looking for something.."

i've lost sight of the whole "meaning of life" again by getting all caught up
in the meaninglessness of the present's problems. at least i realize this.

i'm having more and more dreams lately, feeling much more alive. i suppose
it's got a lot to do with new expectations.. that and the whole, "fear of the
unknown".

above anything else, i still have this nagging urge to get close to someone.
i guess it's human nature, i don't know why i keep trying to avoid it.

well, i've never been very good at feigning humanity, so..

i got really sick this afternoon from tainted taco bell meat. i should sue,
or at very least complain and get myself some free food out of it. it was
that pleasant, "oh my.. i've had too much to drink.. oh.." feeling. i hadn't
had anything to drink in quite a few days, and i felt very cheated by the
whole thing. if my stomach's going to be that upset, i feel entitled to a
good drunken stupor..

they don't know what a bagel is in louisiana. i don't know what i'm going to
do. those frozen things just aren't quite the same..

their menus disgust me: eggs & grits. bacon, eggs & grits. bacon, eggs,
sausage & grits. pancakes & grits. french toast & grits. grits & grits. and
for good measure, would you like grits with that?

teli keeps spending "quality time" with me, because the reality of my leaving
has finally set in on him. he hates it when i call it "quality time," so i
make it a point to call it that as much as possible.

we're leaving january 2nd. it's all finalized and everything, thank god.
there's a deposit on the truck, so we're committed to the thing. no second
thoughts..

ok, so, there are plenty of second thoughts. but there's no backing out.
everyone says they're going to come and visit. it's funny the way no one even
realizes you exist until you leave. i guess most things work that way, taken
for granted..

i was in a really shitty mood when i wrote the first half of this letter.
looking back on it, i suppose i was pretty harsh about jill. i don't know..
i'm trying the whole "i'm just a friend, doing my share" thing, i don't know
how well it's working. god knows, it's just going to get a thousand times
worse..

it's always so easy to be lonely in a city. there are a million more faces to
look at and think, "i don't know a one of them."

i can't believe i don't have any fingernails. this is ridiculous. this, along
with trying on old clothes from the dresser to decide what was worth
keeping.. it makes me feel like i'm about four years younger, more foolish..

i love labeling boxes, i get real satisfaction out of it. there're boxes
against the wall marked, "snazzy shirts," "things no one in their right mind
should ever read," "things that ordinarily live on your dresser"..

moan.

another twenty-something days, and gone gone gone..

that twat from new york calls at all hours. what the hell? she must not have
any idea who i am, people who really know me call twice a year, at most..

mm.

sixty miles seems so trivial now, compared to twelve hundred.. i should have
visited you more while i had the chance.

everything really is taken for granted, isn't it? i should be more aware of
these things.

i get so sick of repeating the same nonsense. i hope this whole new orleans
thing gives me a few new experiences. i suppose there's no way it can't..

well, anyway. 4am again.

take care of yourself.


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so, you called today & explained how you were upset.. and now i'm sitting
around all worried about you.

hmm.

taken for granted, taken for granted.

i had a wonderful dream last night, i wonder if it has any kind of
significance on my life:

i walked up to my car in the dark, and the back windows were down a crack. i
thought i saw something on the back seat, it looked like someone sleeping. i
kicked the front door loudly to wake up whoever it was, and he got up
immediately. he opened the door and i saw his arm come around with a gun in
it.. i started to turn away and he shot me in the face.

well, i woke up.

hope you're surviving..

i want to come sit next to your bed and stroke your hair. sorry, it's just
what i do when people are upset. and don't go getting that, "just another
girl he touched" thing in your head, either. it's never been that way with
you - you're better than that. you're not some comfortable diversion, you're
someone i actually care about.. someone i want to know.

besides, the boy who touches everyone hasn't touched anything in a long, long
time. i'm broken, and my charm (if there ever was any?) has run away, run
away..

anyway: i'm rich. i got another $332 today, which means i have about $30 for
the next two weeks.. maybe i should come get a job at your theater, i could
use some easy money.

i wish it were spring again. i have this ridiculous urge to lay around on
some grassy hillside and stare up into the clouds.. and dream, dream, dream..

"and i'm not happy
  and i'm not sad"

oh, to be young and insane.

try to remember that you're better than they'll ever be.
take care of yourself.



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almost 3am and i'm still wide awake, bored out of my mind. i've had the wild
notion to drive out to the beach and freeze to death, i don't know if i
really will or not.

what i should do is this: drive up to your house, and spell out something in
the snow with this red food coloring i found while packing. i don't know what
there'd be to write, but i could pretend it'd make you feel better when you
saw it, whatever it was.

i haven't sold my car, i've been too lazy. i'm going to resort to one of
those, "we buy cars!" places, i just haven't gotten off of my ass long enough
to drive it there.

chet & fred, hmm? was there a syllable shortage somewhere that i didn't know
about..? does he have another cousin named, "joe"? or "bob"? "jim"..?

i'm not even upset about the holidays yet, i'm too damned bored to feel
anything.

waiting, waiting, waiting.

eleven days.

teli wants to drive down with us, so he can keep me company on the drive back
up. everyone's got this idea that i'm either going to become homicidal, or
fall asleep at the wheel while i drive the truck back up here. i don't see
what the big deal is..

i wouldn't mind having someone to talk to on the ride back up here, but teli
would get a little unruly after awhile. the road delirium wouldn't help,
either. and besides, there'd be no where to put him on the way there. it's
just an average moving van, tiny little cab up front, room enough for two
people. i suppose we could tie him up in the back with all of the furniture,
but that wouldn't be very polite.

i'll miss you, stupid as it sounds. i'll probably end up writing you more, if
that's conceivable. i've got some really grim visions of what it's going to
be like..

haven't been fucked in months. it's amazing. i can't remember the last time,
but from something i had written, it was apparently in the first part of
october. two months? it feels like something more like six, eight.

not that it matters, of course, but it's something to obsess over for awhile,
something to keep me occupied.

the tart, allison, still calls fanatically. i'm running out of excuses for
her behavior. i did end up writing her a four page letter, but i don't know
if that's going to inspire her to call more, or..? the letter wasn't nearly
as nasty as i'd hoped - i just babbled for three and a half pages, then went
into the whole, "i have no idea why you continue to plod around in my life"
sermon. i think i was overly polite, i don't know.

she's probably just as lost as i am, i shouldn't poke at her.

the room is this barren shell of a thing now.. just cold white walls,
cobwebs, boxes. i've got a small pile of clothes sitting on a chair, the
futon, five or six albums to listen to. waiting, crawling the walls..

it's so hard to let go of things.

had another dream last night - not quite as scary as the "shot in the face"
one, but it still had something to say. i was living with jill, and she was
all over some guy. they were out in the main room of the place, the kitchen i
think. wherever it was, i had to piss. i didn't want to disturb her little
orgy, so i kept quiet for awhile in whatever room i was in. after awhile i
poked my head out to see if the situation had improved any, and i got a
glorious view of his lean young buttocks working.. she was sitting in a
wicker chair (?), him kneeling on the floor. i got pissed off, walked out
into the room. i stood there for a minute, staring at her.. then walked past
them, into the bathroom. i slammed the door with some kind of vengeance.

i remember thinking, "what am i doing? just let go.. just let go.."

then, all of the sudden, the dream flashed over into stuffed animals..
something like a cartoon. there was a tiger, i think, and he was talking to
one of the other animals. "it doesn't mean a thing," he said, "and it's never
been done any better."

i don't know what the stuffed animals have to do with anything, but the quote
was entertaining. i wrote it down somewhere so i wouldn't forget it.

the rest of it is pretty obvious, i guess. i always latch onto things when
i'm lonely, and it seems like it's usually her - i don't know if it's that i
haven't gotten the whole thing out of my system, or that i keep going back to
that because it feels like i made some kind of a wrong turn. always picking
at the mistakes of the past, the cold dead unchangeable things..

when am i going to learn?

the bus ride back to new orleans is going to be a glorious 32 hour trek into
insanity. i have no idea how i'm going to cope. there are (thankfully?) six
transfers, so i'll at least get to stretch my legs.. maybe i'll take a bottle
with me. i can occupy myself with getting drunk at first, and by the time i'm
good and plastered, i'll be able to sleep for another twelve hours or so..
probably missing two of the transfers.. getting lost in downtown atlanta.. no
money..

i wish there were someone as stressed out as i am, as crazed and bored and
useless.. i want to get into a car with someone and drive west, just drive
drive drive and leave it all behind.

"i just ran - i ran so far away.."

haven't been drinking in quite awhile. i don't know what's gotten into me. i
guess people could be proud of me, if i were actually making some kind of an
effort to remain sober. it's just too dull, you know? there's nothing -
nothing.. no feelings good or bad, nothing to hide from, hence no reason to
drink.

i remember this quote from "ferris bueller's day off." it probably came from
some great literary thing that i'll never read. "between grief and nothing,
i'll take grief."

anyway.

another pitiful excuse for a letter.

if i had any feelings, this would be more coherent. really.

i still want to see you before i leave, even if just for a minute or two. i
don't want to leave some half-assed thing in your driveway, i want to look at
you, hug you. try to hold on to who you are, try to carry it with me across
half the frigging stale, dead country. i care about you a lot more than you'd
probably ever believe, in spite of the fact that i rarely see you. all of the
pruning away of things with the move and all, it really forces me to look at
how much you mean to me. i have few and even less than few friends, and it's
hard to play with the idea of them not being there anymore. i can't begin to
count the times that i've sat here, spilling out the absurdities of my life
to you. there's some kind of reassurance that comes out of the whole thing,
knowing (hoping?) that you're going to read it all and not condemn me to some
kind of asylum, that you probably understand. you've given me tiny bits of
sanity when i haven't had any, and i hope there's some way i can repay you
for your humanity. sorry for the depth, i don't mean to get all serious. i
don't mean to give you the heebie-jeebies, either, and i hope i haven't.

mm.

4am.

i can't even watch the clock tick, i packed the fucking thing. i have to
stare at this unfeeling little digital bastard at the bottom of the screen..

i've whittled my "things to do" list down. now it's pretty simple: get rid of
the car, dye the hair, take several showers.

it's hard to sell-out your dreams when you don't have any.

well.




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sitting here
a thousand miles from reality
regurgitating thoughts
feelings

twisted cracks
writhing in the flesh
in the
solitude

the ones who want me
are the ones i've forgotten

the ones i want
are the ones who are impossibly out of reach

by time
by distance

by
a fractured touch

by
tears on your cheeks

"it doesn't mean a thing,
and it's never been done any better.."



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i remember the date

"she speaks of you often"

listen
listen, michelle
however you're spelling it
i'm in love with you
in a warped and tender way
like a brother
like a father
like a son

another drink
another cheer for the tomorrow
that never comes

please take care of yourself
tend to all your wounds

chet hurts
doesn't he
like a buzzsaw, in a way
cutting into your feelings
dreams
everything

i've been there
my god
i've been there
and it still hurts
with every day
with every moment

i wish i could save you from all this

save them all

"don't go this way
please don't go this way.."

you are an angel
and you don't even realize it

you save people from
hell
insanity
fate

see yourself through my eyes



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