You say that people want to be lied to because you want to lie. I don’t know how but you’re being selfish. You’re not telling the truth when you think you are. Your points break down between shots. Tighten up your theories Doc, this shit ain’t little league.
I lie to everyone because it’s the only way for me to feel superior and I need to feel superior because I believe that I am worthless.
Last night in bed, I tried to find some posts on my blog that would give me an idea how I handled this situation in the past. Turns out I stopped blogging right after I asked my wife to marry me, and didn’t start again for more than a year. And that sucks because that was exactly the time period where everything went dark.
On the plus side, as I read through my archives I thought to myself: some of this shit is good. And some of that shit has no likes, so you probably don’t even know about it. Or maybe you do and you don’t like it.
After I posted that shit yesterday I went and wrote some even more whiny ass shit in my brown leather book. Then I wrote in huge scribbles “Shut the fuck up!” A bunch of different ways and then I just stared at it for a while. Then I poured myself a big drink, which I’m usually afraid to do around my wife. And I drank that shit and sliced up some mushrooms and I felt fine.
Later I read some blog posts about people being in love and drank some more and then I said fuck it. It’s like I’m always looking for someone else to define me. I remember times thinking I should break up with my wife because I want to do my own shit, back before we were married. And I would usually remember that five seconds after we broke up I’d find some other girl to tell me what to do. I don’t even know if I really like doing drugs. I probably just can’t stand to be in control of myself or something.
Shit it’s fucking crazy to think about. I don’t even know what I want to do.
Also, shit man, I should probably try to write second drafts and stop being fucking lazy. I’m not the second coming of Jack Kerouac after all.
This morning we ate at Russ and Daughters and I ordered a greyhound, just to keep myself in check.
I went to the Brooklyn Public Library today with my wife for the second time. We looked for books on the history of New York to help her write her latest paper for school. There were some books that had won awards and some books that looked outdated. I was curious about all of the books, I wanted to have read all of them and know what the titles meant, but I didn’t want to actually read them. I mean I wanted to, if I had all the time in the world, but I wouldn’t make time to, because none of them were written in a way that resonated with me.
I finished American Gods today. Four days. I just had to know how it turned out. Not so much a page turner as just a book that really spoke to me and so I just pushed everything to the side to read it, like how I do when friends come to visit. Just wiped the desk clean, so to speak.
I had a beer on the way back from the library. A belgian trippel at a place named for a saint near Bergen Street. Yum. We are going out for burgers for dinner. And I have no money, but fuck it, I actually do have some money. I was going to pay bills with it but I’m sure this is more important. Fuck bills.
I was thinking today that I have to stop identifying myself as a waiter/server/bartender. I have to allow that shit to fade out. I don’t want to pick up the mantle of professional dealer with manic old men who write books, but at least that would be a step in the right direction.
I am an artist!