It’s great. I don’t have time to write anything. Not now, although now, too, but I mean in general.
Whoa man I missed some time there, missed some posts there I apologize.
It was crazy the weekend and I didn’t have a free moment. I went home and tried to observe my family. It was utter insanity what went on there and how I was able to ignore it for years. I don’t know how I’ll get the strength to confront it.
Then I saw Tool yesterday. I’ll tell you about it later.
Flickering lights above the panty store. An irreversible march towards summoning a black car T6 something something something. So many thoughts you can’t separate them, you can’t even pick a handful. A damn shame the weather so nice and why you sitting there quart container full of acid reflux in your lap. Alone. Waiting to help out a friend with a fetish.
You’re not clever, you know, when you speak like that. You’re not clever, you know, when you talk to yourself like that.
Wouldn’t have noticed the battery on edge if I didn’t pull up Spotify looking for Travis Scott. Never heard of this dude till the other night, I swear. I swear I never did! I don’t watch what you watch, everyone. I don’t do the things everyone does!
Hahaha fuck it. Yeah I do. I’m a classic man. I’m an average man. I’m a man in a bench with a stomach ache and cartilage in my teeths.
Dude. Shits crazy.
I’m in love with everyone. Just want to go out all the time. Hang out. Can’t stand being home the only one awake late at night. Need somebody I can text all kinds of crazy shit. Need a day job. I ran all day, did all kinds of shit, had fifteen moments of transcendence. Get home and it’s not enough. Staring at splotches of color on my lovers face under the harsh subway lights.
What to do. Get a different job. Keep this job. Drink all night. Sleep all night. Calm down, you’ll be asleep soon enough what’s the big deal? I don’t know but it is a big deal. Never want anything to end. Except this interminable loneliness at the end of the night.
Wife is asleep. Wife wake up. Let’s be together now. Don’t wake me up, she says. Don’t make me not asleep, she says. If you stare at me too hard she says it wakes me up.
Maybe jerk off. Maybe I should try some pills. Maybe I shoulda smoked some weed. But no, tried that before. Came home the oven light wasn’t even on. Brother’s down the street. What’s good? Could try it out. He’s only 66% as old as I am, what does he know? Maybe if he was a girl I wasn’t related to. Need to work harder apparently. Work too hard to sleep.
Probably figure I’m looking at porn right now. With the bathroom fan on. The only room I can be alone in. I suppose I could write at the table, who would know? I suppose I could try that after all.
But then again I need my rest. I must go to bed. I must go to sleep. It’s only a few minutes of restlessness. Just push on through to the other side.
My wife wanted me to help her off the floor.
I stood over her and said give me your hand.
She said can you just reach down and pick up my hand?
I said no reach up and grab mine.
She was so stubborn she wouldn’t do it.
I wouldn’t give in.
After ten minutes she got up without help and went to bed.
Holy shit. I don’t want to write. I am so tired.
I’m listening to Lee Burridge’s new track 12cc. It’s awesome.
I’m waiting for the train home from work.
I invited the girl I was formerly obsessed with to the party on Governor’s Island where I’m going to take ecstasy.
She’s thinking about it.
Going to work I don’t feel like I can really make it. There’s nothing really wrong and that’s really the problem. When there’s nothing wrong something has to go wrong but when you don’t really know what it is you really can’t prepare.
Ran for the train. Caught the train.
Last night I went out drinking and drunk texted everyone, even the girl from Boston. Anyone will do when I get drunk. I feel so lonely at home. I never want to leave the bar. But I left around 2:30 and was all responsible and took a car and shit and got home safe and when I got there I was pissed and lonely.
Then I woke up this morning feeling so embarrassed about the dumbass texts I had sent.
Then I worked twelve hours and now I’m on the fuckin train home and it’s way before midnight.
People are making out like fuckin emus over here. All necks and awkwardness.
It’s going to be a fast and fucked up week. I’m working twelve hour days every day from now until Sunday. Then one day off and then another three days on and then I’m going to my other brother’s graduation and then I’m going to a Tool concert.
I stopped meditating about two or three weeks ago, whenever Morgan showed up, because it’s hard to meditate in a house with two bedrooms, four people, and three cats. I think I noticed a difference. In any case everything seems more awful than before.
I stopped working out, too, on May 7.
I’m at work looking all fucked up, just wanting a drink and shit. I been drinking a lot at work. The girl I’m obsessed with only works one day a week any more, so getting through the work day is fucking difficult. I’m not even obsessed with her any more because I don’t see her. Out of sight, out of my mind, and all of that, to an extent. I’ve a lot of experience cutting people out of my life. Just moving on. Usually physically moving. Why let anyone get close? Just someone else I’m going to have to hide from.
But you know, I talked to the girl about the whole thing and she made me realize that, while we were playing perhaps dangerously close to a cliff, neither of us had done anything actually wrong. Well, I suppose I had done something wrong by not talking to Molly about the fact that I was falling in love with another woman, but you know what, we don’t even have time to talk these days. She works sixty hours a week now and she works during the day and I work during the night. That’s why I need a new job, you know, so we can see each other.
But anyways like I was saying, here I was all beating myself up about shit, because I was in love with this girl, but I remembered you can’t control how you feel, you can control how you act. I was all thinking in my head that we’re in some kind of sexually charged dance, me and this girl, and that was some kind of sin. Probably because as a super Christian back in the day, the only relationships I could have with girls were exactly this. I would have called this girl my girlfriend back in the day because we smiled at each other a lot and were both into each other. That doesn’t constitute a fucking girlfriend, for fuck’s sake. But there it was, hanging around on the back shelves of my mind, this whole box of bullshit about what a girlfriend is. That’s fucking dumb. No wonder I don’t have a healthy relationship with my wife, I don’t even know what a wife is!
I’m like a fucking guilt factory. Churning out the guilt. Like a fucking goat produces shit. What does a goat need to produce shit? Any fucking thing. A shoe. A fucking heirloom tomato. A bag of dicks.
You know why I’m a fucking guilt factory? A fucking super high efficiency guilt machine? I would have told you it was my parents. I would have told you it was Jesus Christ and the motherfucking bible. But you know why it’s fucking lying that’s why. Weak character, brought on by having no stressors. Only one artificial stressor, maintaining the fucking lie, man, is what.
Say I was to fall in love with this woman. I tell Molly about it and what does she say? Who fucking knows. Maybe we have a long talk about how we don’t fucking talk any more or have enough sex, maybe we modify our relationship, maybe we decide fuck it, I like you as a partner in life, I don’t give a shit about your emotions. Maybe we decide not to act on anything for now, because we’re both busy being broke as fuck, and put that shit on ice for a year, and if nothing changes, then we got to make some decisions. Who knows what the fuck we could even decide because we would both be strong people who knew each other, instead of me being some kind of weak ass bitch fucking creeping around like a depressed little crab.
Why do I curse so much? People asked me sometimes. Probably because I’m fucking angry all the time way down where I can’t even hear myself any more because I built this huge guilt machine to manufacture fucking lies all day to keep me from ever having to experience anything real.
Yeah, so anyway. Me and this girl are just chilling now. It’s not even a big fucking deal. I build it up like its a fucking world changing event, me liking this girl, and really it’s just that she’s super awesome and super hot and she’s attracted to me. Why does that have to be a big deal? Because I’m scared of myself because I don’t even know who I am, that’s why! Is that Molly’s fault? Is that Christianity’s fault? Is that Society’s mother fuckin fault? Is that my parents fault? Nah mother fuckers that’s my fault for lying my ass of for no reason all my life.
Oh shit now I’m going to feel guilty about that!
Haha nah I mean I could, but guilt doesn’t come from taking responsibility for your actions. Guilt, at least the kind I feel, the destructive kind, comes from a kind of self-censorship who’s aim is to keep you down, crammed down inside of a fucking shell so that people will accept you without any effort on their part or your part.
Unlike dumbass indulgent guilt that comes from overthinking and lying to yourself, taking responsibility for your actions empowers you.
Yeah so anyway I meditated and worked out today.