Prolonged and Anti-Climactic Death Spat
Hello, for the second day in a row. I just got home from work about an hour or two ago. Another tough day at the office.
There are big things going on in Bay City this weekend.... it's the Venetian festival. It seems like they have a festival every frickin weekend. I'm glad I went to work today, it's been extremely hot outside. I read an article in the paper that said there's going to be this Christian battle of the bands here in Midland... I guess it's to try to deter people from going to other places for entertainment this weekend. Hmmm... Christian rap duo or the Doobie Brothers? I think I'll go with the latter.
This 25-year-old graduate from Dow High died this week. I say this week, because it hasn't really been determined when exactly he died. The paper said it was Tuesday that he died, but there was no obituary. I thought nothing of this because our paper does this all the time. Do you see how conditioned I've become??? I am Pavlov's dog to american media. I don't even respond anymore. Today, they finally printed another article that he died this morning and they put his obituary on the back. I recognize the guy, but do not know him. He died of huffing, but our town makes no issue of this. We don't want it to be known that we have paraphanelia in our town. Hey Brehnt, just so you know, I don't give a fuck that I probably spelt that wrong. He does that a lot. Then I go, gee, the one person I thought who would be smart enough to understand completely missed the point and only cared that I spelt a word wrong.
..... none of this is the point. I guess I feel bad. This past semester, I heard of people my age dieing, whether in Iraq or just a car accident because of bad snowy roads... it's been happening. In a subtle message, I get the point. "Do more with your life." And I say, "I'm fucking trying the best I can. Isn't four volumes of music (within a year) without compensation, mind you, good enough for you motherfuckers." I paint too. I write in this thing - as a patient. I see the readers of this as my doctors, but all they do is take notes. They don't know how to help me. I don't know how to help me. I'm a creative cancer tree that keeps growing and killing everything in my way. I also have journals filled... stories written. Dollars in my bank account. Not many, but enough to know that I can eat tonite. They also tell me that at one time I did do something.
I don't know. I think I'm fine. If there was something wrong with me, they would have gotten me by now. The cops are on top of those types of things, whether we like to admit it or not.
I don't want to go on another vacation anytime soon. My parents asked me to go with them.... away for a week to see some shows. I declined. I'd rather stay here. The summers are nice here.
A.J., D.D.
There are big things going on in Bay City this weekend.... it's the Venetian festival. It seems like they have a festival every frickin weekend. I'm glad I went to work today, it's been extremely hot outside. I read an article in the paper that said there's going to be this Christian battle of the bands here in Midland... I guess it's to try to deter people from going to other places for entertainment this weekend. Hmmm... Christian rap duo or the Doobie Brothers? I think I'll go with the latter.
This 25-year-old graduate from Dow High died this week. I say this week, because it hasn't really been determined when exactly he died. The paper said it was Tuesday that he died, but there was no obituary. I thought nothing of this because our paper does this all the time. Do you see how conditioned I've become??? I am Pavlov's dog to american media. I don't even respond anymore. Today, they finally printed another article that he died this morning and they put his obituary on the back. I recognize the guy, but do not know him. He died of huffing, but our town makes no issue of this. We don't want it to be known that we have paraphanelia in our town. Hey Brehnt, just so you know, I don't give a fuck that I probably spelt that wrong. He does that a lot. Then I go, gee, the one person I thought who would be smart enough to understand completely missed the point and only cared that I spelt a word wrong.
..... none of this is the point. I guess I feel bad. This past semester, I heard of people my age dieing, whether in Iraq or just a car accident because of bad snowy roads... it's been happening. In a subtle message, I get the point. "Do more with your life." And I say, "I'm fucking trying the best I can. Isn't four volumes of music (within a year) without compensation, mind you, good enough for you motherfuckers." I paint too. I write in this thing - as a patient. I see the readers of this as my doctors, but all they do is take notes. They don't know how to help me. I don't know how to help me. I'm a creative cancer tree that keeps growing and killing everything in my way. I also have journals filled... stories written. Dollars in my bank account. Not many, but enough to know that I can eat tonite. They also tell me that at one time I did do something.
I don't know. I think I'm fine. If there was something wrong with me, they would have gotten me by now. The cops are on top of those types of things, whether we like to admit it or not.
I don't want to go on another vacation anytime soon. My parents asked me to go with them.... away for a week to see some shows. I declined. I'd rather stay here. The summers are nice here.
A.J., D.D.