Recent Entries Garion born; thinking of doing video logs - 2012-09-01 I'm married, I'm a prospective father, wow I never update - 2012-05-22 Got the job at the NIA; mother complicates wedding plans - 2011-10-13 Scrawl - 2011-08-05 It's never been better - 2011-06-02
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That's hott 2009-10-23 - 12:17 a.m. 
It used to be easier and more difficult a decade or so ago. I had more going for me than I thought. Most of it involved dreams and ideations, but for the shortest of times I could find all sorts of interesting people to talk to. I had my camera equipment, a vaguely good sense of framing a scene, and my 20's stretching out like one of those monster pr0n dicks, a Peter North of high desert frivolity. Trouble is I spent all my money on women. And the thing is I went for the high road while reaching around down behind where, and when, no one was lookin'. So now I've crafted a life that simultaneously suits me perfectly and not at all. It is jejune but important, time-consuming and frustrating, melodic and schocastically stacatto. Still trying to publish a bunch. Still trying to get back into photos and having another show since the last one. Still writing the game that goes on and on. Still doing the same things since I was mid-20's. And now, well, I'm just more cynical and prone to heart disease and cancer. But I'm still thin so that's hott. I wonder about people nowadays. I wonder if I'll ever get to speak to you again. You painted a beautifully fucked up world that felt like dopamine injected in the tongue, percolating up to the taste buds like worms during the storm. I never knew if you were half of this and that. I never cared. You were the last gram of magic that pulsed before the alcohol and regret and forgetting. I wonder if you will ever get your head out of your ass and call me, like you've said-suggested for 5 years now. I couldn't be any more out of love with you if my brain got hooked up to a car battery with a wawa pedal on the accelerator. Regardless, you had that excruciating beauty thing going on--and I dig pain. I enjoyed reading about how twisted and beyond hope the world seems to you. You inspired me to write poetry. I fucking hate reading poetry. I read yours. I loved it. When will you write more of the sweet sensical nonsense? You were the last person I fell for. I wrote you off years ago. I wonder if you still occasionally feel that weird connection we used to have, and remember the stuff we talked about. Me with mine, you with yours, swapping this or that person in and out as the days unfolded. And somehow, despite my being a stupid, stupid fuck and loaning you more cash than I've ever lent anyone else combined, you still call once in awhile, during the day, when I'm at work. I never pick up because it's somehow never the right time. You are the only real friend I got left. I turned the rest of the skeebal tickets in long ago for a stuffed commemorative dildo and a box of ass-shaped cracker jacks with sequin smiles. Sometimes I wish my job and interests vaguely interested you. But despite being on opposite tracks, somehow we keep parallel. I can't get ahead despite 16 hour days of grinding my ass off twice a week, and 9 hours otherwise. You have the worst goddamn luck on the planet. Somehow it never quite worked out. Somehow that seems sad. I wonder if we'll ever really talk again. I then realize that our friendship was the equivalent of drinking quinine to ward of malaria, except I had to down 9 cups a day. Your capacity to create problems for yourself rivaled mine. That is a talent. It was fun while it lasted. Kind of, mostly. I wonder if you, you, you, you, or you still read this thing. I remember the flotilla scintillas of dramatic nonsense, all concocted on a box-like rectangle with a lightbulb's second cousin waving its ass around so I could see, out at night and into the early mornings. I wonder if people I used to love and care about will ever make themselves known again. I still look for Keegstr* on social network sites, because for some reason only her last name has stuck with me. I never said goodbye to Matt. Bo either. I was too busy to pay attention to Adam and pretty much sprayed that friendship in the face. And some others have been reduced to Face friends, a series of blurbs about games, photos, and thoughts that make a delightful proxy for friendship. All of it. All of them. Gone. (Except you, at least). I wonder if times like any of that will come again, or if I well and truly jumped off the last train to wherever we were collectively going and settled down in some small village with a badly thatched roof and a perpetual need to masturbate to bad porn twice a day while salsa music and ninos screamed outside to usher some silly festivity. It's like having a giant hamster perpetually running a wheel to get my internet going, my brain up, and my body in motion. I am at a loss for finding any meaning beyond the brazen shallowness of my career-ism, borderline alcohol abuse, and occasional forays into being a real adult but not really. I have picked my three to four passions and foregone everything and everyone else. It is admirable. It is pathetic. Just lost in general, like everyone else. |
