If I could remember all the ideas I have had when drunk and crawling into bed then I wouldn’t need to write about being drunk and forgetting those ideas, would I? And because I can't remember, she was 21 and blonde and beautiful so she was an actress in that fucking city actresses go to. Maybe it’s stupid of me to wake up and start drinking and eat only one meal a day that makes me feel sick because I eat too much, she hated that. Maybe I’m not living up to my potential as she said just as parents and teachers always said when I was a kid. But I still feel like a kid. And she was a kid, definitely.
I always joke it was God that kept us apart, but it was really me. (and her) And I resented her too. It’s that fucking insane kind of thing. Like when the Muslims all walk in that giant circle, and it’s not that they have to, but they all want to kiss this fucking rock like Muhammed did. And the Catholic dad makes sure his son actually kisses the feet of a wooden Christ instead of kissing his hand and putting it there. And the Jews wail at their wall made for wailing. And this is all
absolute
fucking
insanity.
Kissing a wall or a rock or some wood. That Icelandic porn on the projector when she wasn’t present had a girl that kissed a wall, maybe she did it on accident just caught up in the acting of pleasure. She kissed the wall. And it was insane, and even more insane is any of that because it gets you closer to some God. That was how I felt about it and told her. And she believed even more. So there was no way, even though she’s a pervert kind of like me.
I don’t know if that’s the point though really. If I could remember what I’d thought last night I wouldn’t have to fill every page with splintery tangent anecdotes about lost love and religious insanity. There’s all those kids out there right now who’ve been in the desert putting on shows for three days and are probably playing kickball and not keeping score. They’re all afraid of screens and want everything on vinyl. And I make jokes about watching all video on Betamax that most of them don’t understand.
And they all probably know the lyrics to that song. I’m sure they’re all imagining. But they imagine some kind of fairy tale I guess, without screens and electricity and data and that’s how it’s all going to be imagined. Fake, because they were told to imagine. So I don’t see them all that much even though they can be fun. Christian Dior dreamed to save women from nature. (and Christian Dior isn’t interesting) I dream to save everyone from nature. (and neither am I) And they’re all losing their shit reading that, thinking I am some techno-anti-Christ and not getting it. Fools.
And I think about where all my true friends are and can pick out their faces and set those faces in different environments. But I’m alone. Trying to remember what it was I thought. It’s probably not that interesting anyway. A far sight more interesting than this is what I hope.
She liked me I think maybe she loved me too, whatever that means. She told me she did, I know she did really, or maybe all that crying was just an actress unable to turn it off. Responding the way people think they should respond is probably really hard for an actress because they can’t stop. The plan was to move to LA, but she wouldn't let me live with her. So I moved to Boston instead. That was a better idea. I’m sure there’s a lot of people who can’t stand LA. out there. I am here to tell you that it is a place to
burn
down,
nothing more nor less. The plan was to be together, so it failed because I refuse to work so much of the time. (and because she has can't live without faith in bullshit)So probably my fault really, and in reality...I got off easy.
It’s so hard to trust someone who thinks they’re made of sin and that there is eternal paradise for the faithful and damnation and suffering for those who reject it. And it’s all damnation and suffering anyway. You know all this I’m sure, I don’t need to go on about it. I’m just still struggling to remember what that idea was, it seemed so good and smart and entertaining, like I’m a writer with a Japanese name and interesting storylines.
It’s been flooding lately. Water in the homes in the woods. That’s not it.
I don’t fuck anymore really. I like the idea I just don’t like the doing. That’s not it either.
Some pretty girl at a party. She’s young and intriguing. That makes her boring.
A kid you know died. You think about death and feel faith in God. It happens to fools.
It’s the end of the world. Turns out there is no God. Predictable.
You wake up with the clap. Stop fucking random girls. Too simple.
Your father’s ghost says avenge him. You whine about whether or not to do it. Hamlet.
It’s hard to be interesting or original. That’s why the ideas come when I’m going to forget them. Since it’s not that interesting anyway. I should probably give up on remembering, it’s just making me frustrated, it’s no longer a tip of the tongue thing anyway. It’s a lost memory, never to be recovered. Write more things down. Recognize the inanity of said things. Move on.
What really got me about her is that she is sick and I am sick. Different sickness but still. Mutual understanding. I can eat what she can’t and she eats all the meat that I don’t. Can’t eat wheat, wild. (can't drink beer) I don’t know how I’d get drunk every day without beer. (it’s too gruesome to think about)She was out of my league pretty, and out of my league nice, but not smart. An English major who wasn’t well read, I guess I should have stuck with my preconceived notions of college or pretty/popular girls. That kind of thing. (at least that kind of pretty) She was absolutely sweet and not stupid and liked to fuck and loved to suck cock. (and was amazing at it) But who gives a shit.
We want to be around people who can fucking talk. Who can wax philosophic about a world without politics and scarcity and all this emotional overindulgence. But not even my friends can do that most of the time. So fuck. What now. Go play kickball with dirty kids or go fuck actresses who want to be famous. Go pretend to be cool. Pretend to be not naïve or something like that. Pretend to be stupid. Pretend that this is the way things should be. Write songs about the evils of technology and how all this change is bad. Watch all these kids who call themselves liberals espouse an idea that is fully conservative. Call myself an idiot for using stupid words like that. Call myself a lot of things like pretty. (I am very pretty sometimes) I guess that’s why I feel so fucking stupid all the time.
I just want to make it alright. Sorry I can't remember the idea I had last night. She can't eat bread or beer or pasta or pizza or anything like that. We both love mexican food with corn tortillas and corn chips...that is all I could really think about when I woke up. When she has gluten her body slowly kills her. And that erased my idea. The thought of her slow death. I think I killed her some, I know she killed me some. And I lost the idea.
I guess I’ll tell you I am here to tell you to go fuck yourself while I think about you and shun hope and feel affection. (this is not about hate)
Listen,
kid,
we’re all in it
together.
