So, death. And love. And sex.

I’m not afraid of death. Sure, it’s an end. I won’t be, anymore. I won’t write anymore

(stop clapping). I won’t breathe anymore. I won’t talk to you anymore (don’t party, yet).

I won’t be, anymore. NOT here, anyway.

Yeah, I believe in an afterlife. That’s the only fear. I don’t want to go to Hell. I’ve

had . . . visions of what await me there. I know what I’ve done. I know where I was wrong.

I know where I am wrong. I know the price I must pay. But I don’t fear dying.

In the past six months I’ve gone through some changes. Like that Black Sabbath song, which

I like a lot, and has been a theme for my life often enough. I’ve got a flaming heart.

Blah blah blah. Anyway, death is not something that I fear. I’ve taunted it, somewhat.

In the past six months I haven’t cared much for living. I’ve had little to look forward to.

(I hate ending sentences with prepositions, but . . .) I live with my parents. Blah. I

have a job in a factory, so it goes nowhere. Blah. I just got a new(ish) car. Blah. What

am I going to do next? Maybe I’ll get my own home. Alone. Then what? So, no prospects.

I’m too creepy to keep a full-time girlfriend. And that’s what I want, really. I don’t

want something to stick my cock into. That’s the for the next subject; now we’re about

death. Which I don’t fear.

I used to drink at the bar. I could tell my limit & I’d ween myself off for the night.

Sometimes the bartender would help me out in that. She was cool. The bar was cool. It was

a home to me. Then I’d go home . . . and sleep ‘til time to work. Sometimes, barely making

it. Driving like Hell was on my tail. Which it might’ve been. I didn’t care about that.

I wanted to drive fast, and I liked those moments when I didn’t care. I liked driving home

from the bar when I’d had more than I should have. Maybe I’d crash. Maybe I’d die. What

would happen? Of course, in my vanity, I’d wonder who would come to my funeral. What would

people say? What would they do? How would my death change their lives? Looking at how

other deaths have affected people . . . probably not much. Not mine. Not theirs. Not much

effect. Not death. So, why fear it? I drive fast. It’s fun. It’s dangerous. I don’t

fear crashish and dying.

I do fear surviving. Ever been in a crash? It sucks when you have to keep on going.

Injured? Sux. Car totaled? Sux. Insurance goes up? Sux. Hospital bills? Sux. Lost

work (less income). Sux. The pain? Sux. Could’a died. Then you wouldn’t have to worry

anymore, right?

Love?

Sex?
What’s sex? Grunting, sweating, thrusting . . . for what? Afterward . . . was it worth

it? What if it was with someone you didn’t care about? What was it all for? That single

moment of physical gratification? Lame. It’s not love. It’s fucking. And it’s sick.

It’s a sickness. Just going together for selfish needs.

What I want is something more. Something to fulfill me, and for me to fulfill. I don’t

just want someone to complete me; I want someone that I complete. It won’t be physical. It

won’t be sexual. It should be something more. Something deeper. And it may never happen.

But I don’t want sex. I don’t want to get laid. That’s boring. That’s over and done with

in a moment. There can be doubt and regret. I’m done with that. I’ve had that. It’s not

what I want. I want the real thing. I want the faerie-story ending. I believe that it’s

out there. It might be shining. It might be dark. But it’s magical. And I’m looking for

it, like I have been all my life. True, my eyes get distracted by shiny things before me,

but what I really, truly want . . . is so powerful that . . . I don’t know what to say . . .

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Oh how I hate me. I’m not going to post this to-night. My brain is scatttering as I type this. It’s been three weeks in the waiting. I have several subjects I’d like to address, and I will do none of them in this sitting. I’m not really in the mood to write at the moment. I’m drinking, and I’m itching to play my game. Last-night I started a new character for the game. A character that’s going to do things in bad ways that I might not normally do. My original character does what I think I would really do. Mostly. I want to say “mostily” ever since I saw that “Jizz in my Pants” video. Check it out; it’s awesome. Anyway, ever notice how fast your heart beats sometimes when you’ve been drinking? Ther are times when I wake up after doing lots of drinking and have to piss the Thames. Occasionally, my heart will beat so fast and hard when I do that, that I think I might just die. Now I’m checking my msgs neurotically. At least to see if they’ve read my message.

I want to write about the distinction between love and sex. I want to write about my concerns (or lack thereof) about death. I want to play my game ‘cause when I started that second (bad) character, I accidently saved over my most recent save for my main character. The full implications of this didn’t hit me until sometime to-day, while at work. However, the game does auto-save when one leaves or enters through a door. So, I still have a save for that character. Albiet slightly further back than what I’d like to be. Especially since I made some impressive moves since that time. I think. I can’t remember exactly. I wanted to say “exactily” there. Even though that wasn’t in the song.

I’m listening to some new music right now. My idiot . . . well, a “co-worker” of mine suggested two bands that I might like, based on a band that I do newly like a lot. Usually this guy’s suggestions are shit. Fortunately for him, I’ve already been directed towards this first new (to me) band, so he’s slightly more credible. And it’s pretty good, so far.

I hate it when I reach for my drink and it’s empty.

Usually on New Year’s Eve I try to avoid people. Like, even go to the bathroom to be away from others during the official year-change. I’ve never seen the ball drop, aside from movies and such. This year I’m going to a friend of the family’s, and I plan to get stupid-drunk. I just hope I don’t make a complete ass of myself and hit on everything that is faintly feminine.

I watched a shew to-day that made me sad. I don’t know why. It was an episode of “Terminator: Sarah Conner Chronicles” and I felt like an overemotional little girl watching it. I knew that I’ve been feeling more unhappy lately, but I guess it must be worse that I’d thought. I think about time-travel a lot. I’m often considering the cause and effect of one’s actions. You know, “what if?” and all that. Well, not just that. Some minor change can effect so many things in the future. Especially something that we think of as insignificant at the moment. Even things that no-one else would know, right? Yeah. Things that get dug up later.

So, maybe I’m a lesbian trapped in a woman’s body? lol, I just told someone on messenger that I just wrote that.
I might have to save the convo and paste it here, with names changed.

***

Wow. I read it, and it’s total drivel. I’m not posting that crap here.

***

Oh, lol, okay. So. I suddenly felt the alcohol take hold of me. Colours are interesting. My im’s are slower. Should I publish the new ones, too?
lol, that’d be funny.
and I mean, “taht’dbe bunny!”

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I broke my glasses and fixed them with tape.

It feels a lot like the life I am living now: this fraudulent house of cards.

I don’t feel like talking, there is a shell I’m going in to. It is so easy to impress people and the world, just know the smooth things to say and the lies to feed today’s cast.

What if you’re done playing and want to just make most of the outside just stop?

No focus. The drive is there.

Don’t smile at me. We don’t bare teeth unless we’re going to bite.

There are about five options right now. Three are variants of more less the same theme. What I need to be is responsible and purchase food that extends further then peanut butter and jelly. What will happen is something else.

There are about five options with how I choose to spend tonight. Saturday is decided. Which will be a good time. Right at this moment I am deciding on doing some driving and errand running. Followed up with some video games or a DVD I’ve already seen a million times.

Why is it what I want to do or say or act just seems so difficult and out of character – even when it’s not in any way. Have I changed so much that the reflex kick of my personality is having phantom pains as I struggle to get back to who I used to be. Something like that maybe.

I no longer have a cell phone. It has completely died. I’ll get a new one, someday; in a way it’s part of the great disappearing act. Plus with the phone, there are a few things I’m in denial of that I would be forced to take care of.

I don’t want to think anymore.

Ever.

I just want to be a cartoon and spend way too much time with my head down in a lap as the world drifts by.

————————————-

My actions are not my own, they are, but, they are not the actions I mean to happen. The strings are pulled and I move. Feeling more like a passenger on a train. I’m waiting for a hand to reach out and stop everything.

For a moment.

Everything plays off like a joke, like it should, like it will. It’s just how things happen, it is so amazingly easy to back slide. Things will happen through inaction and inability.

You won’t have a clue about the things I’ve almost said or done. The first thing out of my mouth wasn’t supposed to be about how much worse the roads are getting, it should have been how your hair looked nice and I was happy to see you. Instead of nearly getting us killed in the snow – my intentions were to grab your hand and not let go.

Like I said, this train is taking on water and no matter what I’d like to do or say, I’m too concerned with fucking up and bailing out the water. Easier said then done, you can go down with this ship too, find more courage then I have and hop on board.

Internally I’ve been heaping coal to the furnace.

Things are going to get worse before they get worse.

I’m struggling to reach out but my arms are pinned to my sides.

I’m struggling to reach out with pinned up insides.

———————————-

There isn’t a vice I have right now that I am not ashamed of.

“You’ve met me at a very strange time in my life.”

That fiction will have to wait. ‘Cause I’m finding out new things about myself every day. Aren’t you? That’s something that we should all strive for.

I had a dream this past week. It wasn’t the dream that made me realize something, it was my reaction to it when I half woke far too early to get up. I dreamt that a girl I had a crush on a month or two ago was related to me. Yikes. In this dream I was going through some papers on a table in a house I haven’t lived in for at least 14 years. I have a lot of strange dreams involving that house, so I always pay attention to them. The house had something in it, but it wasn’t malevolent. Not necessarily nice, but easy enough to live with. I wonder if these dreams are being sent from the house. So in this dream, the papers of interest that I’d found were re-issues of birth certificates. Which was of particular interest to me, because mine has some weird stain on it, caused by my poor storage techniqes. I started to look at these dream birth certificates, and found one unfamiliar. It was for a girl named Jentra. The certificate had her Zodiac, too, which was Aqarius, so I knew who the dream meant it to be, even if it was a different name from the real person. The name of the father happened to be my grandfather’s name. Which would make “Jentra” my aunt. That was kinda weird, ‘cause she’s a couple of years younger than me. And I had the hots for her. At that point I woke up.
I don’t know why I woke up from that, usually my dreams shift and slide into something else, but I awoke from this one. As I laid there, wondering if I was tired enough to fall back asleep, I sleepily wondered about this strange dream. I imagined a short discussion, which is what I do so much that sometimes I forget if I’ve actually talked to a person about that topic or not. Especially when I’m drinking. So I was talking to a good female friend about this dream. She happens to not like the person that Jentra represented, and has told me that she wouldn’t be good for me when I was crushing on her. I thought about this friend, and how she would be someone who I’d like to date. In fact, when I first met her I’d asked if she’d like to go out sometime. But she’s with someone who makes her feel wonderful, and I am very glad for her to have that. This imagined discussion about my dream made me wonder if we’d be as good friends if our friendship would be ruined if we did date. Even we got along well, it would be different. And if it didn’t go well, then our friendship would have a blight on it, if we even did stay friends.

So, my conclusion from all of that is that I’m afraid of dating anyone.

I’ve been single now for about seven months. Before that, I was with someone for four years. We knew that we were meant for eachother. We were soulmates. We went well together. It was a faerie-tale sort of love. Nothing else mattered. The entire world outside of us was a blur. We physically ached when we were apart. We even had lots of things in our lives planned out together. What kind of house, what we wanted in it, the trees in the yard, the plants in the garden, all that. We had given MUCH thought to children. We both wanted as many as we could have. We chose names. We decided what they’d be named if we had twins. We bought clothes for them together. We planned on all the different things that we’d want to teach them. But that came to an end. And now she’s having a child with her new boyfriend. She’s about 4 or 5 months pregnant, now. She’s very happy, and I am for her. We’re still friends. We see eachother about once a week. And sometimes she’ll call him and end the call with, “love you.” And I have to keep my eyes on the road. And try not to twitch. Besides small moments like that, I’m fairly over our break up. I’m not over the relationship, though. I’m not saying that I desperately want to get back together, because I don’t know if I do. But I’m still not ready to be with someone else. I feel so much to just reach out and love someone, but I can’t be sure about my feelings right now. They’re so chaotic. I can’t focus on any One. I have no One. So I’ll have to stay alone until I know that I can give myself to someone honestly. Otherwise, I would be ruining something that could be wonderful. Sometimes it can be the right person, but the wrong time. My time is not here. I’m afraid that it’s already gone, but I’m trying to keep myself open. Just in case.

Oh, and I know the answer. “Is it better to have love and lost than never to love at all?” Yes. The pain is worth it. For all of those moments with that One, when it was perfect. All of the good memories are worth the pain of having something ripped out of you while you gape, hollow. The aching of emptiness when you can’t eat and can’t sleep and there is no fucking reason to go out there and do anything and everyone has nothing to say that you want to hear and you just want to shut it all away. But you don’t want to run, just curl up into yourself and disappear ‘cause there’s no reason to go out and do anything anymore. Just let it all fade away. Like a snake’s papery skin. But it never goes away. And you have to see things and hear things and meet people that all make some sort of connection back to them. And you hate to see people happy with eachother because they’re so stupid, and it will never last. Will it? Of course not, ‘cause it didn’t. It’s over. And you know that there’s nothing you can do to bring back what was there. But you try anyway. And you think that it might work (it won’t). And you feel so much worse afterwards. Oh, yeah, and maybe they’ll tell you that if you’d done that before it would’ve helped. Yeah, that’s wonderful to know now. What? You’re at that point with them now? Oh, great, glad to know that. So happy for you. I go now. And . . . there’s nothing left. So, yeah. That pain? It’s worth it. For the good parts. That’s what it’s all about. That’s love. And I’m the king of the unreqited variety. I’ve felt this before, a few times, with other people, but this time . . . it was so much harder, so much more of me was gone. She didn’t just break up with me. She killed a part of me that was us. And that includes the kids that I knew in my heart.

Yeah, that’s all whiny. I didn’t think it’d get to those last few points . . . but I guess I needed to get it out.

Now, where’s that Scotch?

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Here is where the plot thickens. Too much rue they might say.

Here is where I say I’m sorry and that everything was an accident and that I’m not clawing down everything in my wake. I am though.

“Back away. You don’t want to get any of that on you.”

I should have a phone soon again, I’ve lost all of my contacts, and we’ll just have to see who emerges first.

To call me a good person means the act has been purchased.

To call me a good friend means you’re not paying attention.

To call me something closer means you’re looking to play ghosts.

Like a wolf in sheep’s clothing – the smell of blood is amplified and my teeth are bared convincingly like a smile.

“I don’t know how to believe.”

More importantly – I don’t know what to believe.

Everything will come out in the wash.

Bleach will never get us clean.

Not after what you’re going to have to ask me to do. Stare long enough into something and it stares back and all that.

—————————-

I’ll be back after the knife is done taking.

Hello. This track is on loop and nothing you have to say matters. In all fairness, nothing, I’m going to say will matter either. This is what I like about things.

I like the talking in circles.

Lazy days of watching cartoons on the couch and just being there. Deciding what would be the best course to chart for lunch and/or dinner. Who is coming over to visit with us on the weekend?

None of it matters.

Tonight I came home and started unpacking and eating my dinner. I fucking lost it. I don’t know how long I was crying but it was enough for my head to hurt and my eyes feel swollen.

Am I upset for what has changed, what I’ve lost, what I’ve gained? What could be? What might be?

Mostly, I’m upset because I’m playing pretend and I would of liked to of put my toys away long ago. Put my head in a lap and just close my eyes.

Forgetting for a moment I have sharp teeth.

…nothing I wanted to share tonight came out right. Which is pretty much the status quo.

There are many things to say right now.

How many of these things are truly valid or how many truly hold water is purely subjective.

I guess I will ramble and drop these thoughts in the order I’m comfortable with, which if you are following or a remotely regular reader – the content to towards the end tends to be what I wish I could say, yet, can only sputter out in some fucking riddle.

My bed comes today. This is great; I’ll get to sleep in the first bed I’ve ever bought tonight.

I’ll make sure I sleep toward the side of things to leave room for the ghosts that promise to keep me warm.

The utilities need to be all switched over or something responsible – which I will do right before I go to the store to find a shower rod to hang my curtain.

Eventually, I’ll need a washer and dryer.

Eventually, I’ll need to buy food.

My cell phone is dead. Completely gone. I am torn with getting a new one, who really really in their fucking heart of hearts really cares? Who needs to know that if they call at 3AM, I’d answer?

The only ones I can think of are the characters I’ve spent years making up. Since everything is fiction, I’ll pretend it is a really nice phone too.

Thankfully my friends made the move go as well as it could have been.

Unfortunately, it feels like I snagged myself on a nail on the way out and I’ve been slowly bleeding out.

The kids ask with smiles, how do you get through the night? I laugh inwardly and pretend Marla Singer will show up one day but until then, all the wine, is all for me.

“You have to hold on, hold on to these kite strings, until they pop. I can’t say I’m doing the best I can, only that sometimes I get lucky and I forget to not smile. Just make sure you’re prepared for when the trees eat me when your grip falters.”

Stay in and not say anything to anyone.
Stay in and pretend you don’t exist.

Will things be better after November? It’s the entire journey anyways not the destination. At least that’s how I like to roll.

“I won’t fuck us over, I’m Mr. November. “
-Mr. November, The National

I turned the light off with a click, with one last look at the tall, thin box sitting next to my lonesome glass. Inside that box was an expensive bottle of Scotch. It was a birthday present, and I’d been excited, even though I couldn’t drink real liqor very well. I’m more of a beer or wine person. Only times I really drank liqor were times when I got really sick. For some stupid reason I’d put that song on loop. I’ll have to put it on a list of songs for another Kill Me compilation. Songs that make my heart ache. Songs that I might want to breathe through my soul to some barflys, unprepared for what I’m about to bring to the table. Yeah, in my head, that’s what I do. In reality? I’m just sitting here, mildly sweating ‘cause I’m wearing too much to keep warm. When you sit at a computer screen all night long, it gets cold. No muscle action means little blood flow. I’ve had my legs and ass fall asleep from staying up all night. I think my innate insomnia and the computer screen make me mildly immortal. I am King. And I fade into myself.

I can’t write anymore. I’ve tried, but the words just won’t flow from my fingertips the way that they were so eager to when I was younger. I’m still young. Yeah. And I didn’t die. I KNEW that I’d die at 27 when I was younger. I was just waiting around to see how it happened, and who I was at the time. Now that time is past. It’s all gone, and I’m still here. I’m not even waiting anymore. Sometimes I tease Death. There was a short time when I thought that I couldn’t die. That I had before, and woke up fine. Maybe even better, slightly. Maybe I was just too high. That’s what I did. Got as high as possible, so that I couldn’t tell what was real anymore. I tried so hard to run away from everything, aside from moving myself physically. And why? It wasn’t that bad. Spoiled little prince just couldn’t have everything his way. So I had to make myself into a god, or a devil. Well, maybe I did both, really. Just hid them inside of myself. Then they became real. One took my hand and led me around in an amusement park of decadent life. The other tried to rip me from safety and tear apart everything that I wanted to be. That other one is locked away, and I dread mentioning it at all. The kind one? I killed him. Well, I buried him alive, anyway. I can still hear him whispering, down there. He’s patient and forgiving. Of course he is; he thinks he’s a Jesus. Not the one from the Bible, but something like that. His own idea of what he could be. And me? I don’t know anymore. I just keep pumping along. Never sure of what’s around the next bend. I live my life, I go in shadow.

Sometimes I want it all back. The nightmare of my past. There were some really good times. I always looked back. With furtive glances ahead, of course, ‘cause I want to be prepared, but I’m not sure what to prepare for. Right now I want something that I can’t have. Maybe never have. Whenever I’m close, I throw it away, and then I look for it again, but it’s gone. Lost. And I’m alone. Again. So I look around, and try to find things that might not even be there. And everything else goes on around me, like normal. Even if it’s not normal. It’s going on without me. Just like that episode of “Growing Pains” where Ben (or was it Mike? I keep thinking of it as Ben) stayed home from school, and the whole world went on without him. Just like it was normal. It didn’t matter if he wasn’t there. Just like when somebody dies. We might mourn them for a while, and then what? We get on with life. That’s what we have to do, right? Well, what if they’re still watching? And we go on, forgetting them? They aren’t here, maybe they never were. Maybe you aren’t. I know I’m not.

This isn’t even now I write. I tried a few times, like this, to just throw down some thoughts, to get back into the groove of writing. I LOVE writing. It’s creating a whole world, from my mind. To share with people who might care. The saddest part about all this, is that I write fiction, and the only fiction here is where that bottle of Scotch is. But I won’t tell you. That part’s all mine.

Maybe I’ll write something real (fictional) sometime.

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It kills me. It really does.

I’m sitting here trying to assemble a website or something… the lines blur and so do the projects. There are so many reminders of how rusty I am at the whole process and how being out of the game for two years presents a challenge that is definitely more difficult then I thought.

In a few days, something big happens, and in a few days something big happens, and in a few days something big happens.

I’d say something about ducking and covering. Fight or flight, going limp, etc.

That has to be the biggest lie that I portray about myself. Being a giant coward that is completely afraid of life. I’ll swallow glass if it gets me where I need to be, the same goes with doing what needs to be done. Someone needs to be the clutch. One of the few things I’ve always been great at.

There has been many times in the past few days where I really wanted to sit here and type my heart out about what I’m internally and externally going through.

November is going to feel like a month of Sundays.

For all I know, I am supposed to move on the 8th. The hardest part about that is it makes everything so final regarding my past. The second hardest part is going back there to get all my stuff… there has to be a billion things that I’d like to say or do. I just want to get it all behind me.

After all of that is done, I have my pre-op testing.

A week after that they will cut me, the aftermath, I’ll be pretty much out of commission for a week.

I’ll be all better to remind myself that for Thanksgiving I’m not hiding in the old apartment avoiding families, playing videogames, and just watching the snow come down with the one who loved me.

The actual move has me more fucked up then the idea of having my flesh stretched, removed, and rebuilt. The near constant state of my heart coming out of my chest and nausea hitting me at random moments. That will get better, right?

People say you’re doing fine and you just need to be more positive, you have so much to be proud of and you’re an awesome person.

What people don’t know kills me.

It really does.

How I spend my nights and days now would pretty much make my old friends unsure of who’ve I become. It doesn’t matter anyways – when we all come to meet halfway – we’re different from whom we were before we started. Even if it can’t be seen by the naked eye the change is there.

Who is ever sure they’re doing the right thing?

My current goal is to make it through November, then the month after that. One day at a time and one month at a time. Someday down the road when no one is paying attention I’ll learn to be like them and someone will catch me by surprise and get their fingernail in cracks of my armor.

The dream is not dead and it just kills me.

There are a billion things I want out of life – there is only about three or so that matter. Stick around, someday; I’ll share them with you, half-drunk under the fairy lights. Falling about the place.

———————————————-

I’ve spent the day listening to Múm and many other bands. There is something that doesn’t feel complete unless I’ve sonically injected myself with as much beautiful and emotionally tragic music as I can at any given moment.

The hardest part about quitting smoking these past two weeks is sitting in my car at night listening or when I take the long way home. There is some sort of trigger there, something with the heart just coming apart like a slowly cracked egg, that demands for me to slow down, find a different road, and enjoy one more smoke before returning to the real world.

———————————————————-

I’ve faded pretty much from sight; there are many people that have stopped talking to me regardless of my attempts (small as they may be) to continue on. We’re not responsible for the actions of others; I just hope they realize the truth of things.

There really is only so much Okkervil that is safe before losing oneself in the context.

I’ll try to keep posting here for the people that are keeping count and tabs.

—————————————————

In closing: Recently, I was drunk and depressed, chatting aimlessly with a friend and they asked me what was on my mind and I told them: “Somewhere there is someone masturbating to ‘Fade Into You’ and someday I’ll find them and we’ll be together.” I didn’t care that they didn’t know who Mazzy Star was but I know I smiled the first honest and true smile in a very long time.

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