TOMORROW
*
"Don't be thinking about me when I'm gone."
"I wasn't thinking about you when you were here. "
_______________________________________________________________
I cried, just a little, when waiting for the elevator to take me down and out of there.
I didn't expect to. I didn't expect anything. To be honest, by the time I actually got to that room, I didn't expect bad news. I'd dealt with it already. I made the decision to leave work early abruptly, fought traffic to make it in time, desperate to just get as much of it behind me as would fit back there. I didn't have time to think about it. I just went. Still, I had the slightest sense of dread, sitting there and waiting for news. It sure didn't feel like a life-altering moment...it sure didn't seem like the beginning of the end...but does it ever? You never know.
So I cried a little. Maybe it was relief, or maybe I was finally allowed to grieve the way one should, without having to think about themselves. The news was good to hear, and yet left a rather awkward, unfinished feeling over the whole experience. I'd survived. I was the lucky one. But someone else didn't fare so well.
Maybe I cried because I just didn't know what else would be appropriate.
If it wasn't already apparent, it sure is now. The days of innocence are long gone. A lot of people have mattered to me, but only a few have been monumental. Of those, only one wrapped up in a way that wasn't quite The. End. That relationship ended with an ellipses, maybe a question mark, but not an exclamation point or a period. I didn't exactly expect it to come around again, and I'm not sure I wanted it to. But it was nice to have the option, to leave it open. It's nice to know that someone out there loves you, and that maybe, if things realign just so, there's more to that story. With so much else in my life so finalized, I was happy leaving at least one avenue open-ended. I didn't know until afterward, but it was pretty much the only thing I had left that wasn't case closed.
Until recently, there was always reason to hope for tomorrow...
Well, he walked up to me
And he asked me if I wanted to dance...
He looked kinda nice,
And so I said I might take a chance.
When he danced he held me tight,
And when he walked me home that night,
All the stars were shining bright
And then he kissed me...
The future's a funny thing, in that people talk about it like it's going to happen. Tomorrow is the day dreams will come true, when we'll finish what we can't get done today. "I'll do it tomorrow." "I'll see you tomorrow." "I love ya, tomorrow." Promises, promises. Tomorrow is intangible, and we lie about it all the time.
I suppose, unless we die, some future is going to occur. But never the one we imagine. We talk about what will happen, what we'll do...we talk about tomorrow like it's set in stone. We make plans...some of them happen, many of them don't...we set forth with the best intentions but things never play out by the book. Life in general happens much this way, with most of our best laid plans never rising. I've always put a lot of stock in tomorrow, I've always thought about the things I'll do when it finally arrives. I have so many ideas, so many projects, but they're on hold for that hazy forthcoming day. Today, there's shit to do and bills to pay, but maybe tomorrow...
I'm losing track of the point of it. Progress is slow, change not guaranteed. For many of us, tomorrow never comes. We just live the same day over and over again, helpless to control most of what happens (or doesn't happen). We set our general course but make it only a fraction of the way to our destination...and I guess, in the best case scenario, life is supposed to provide us with enough distractions in the meantime so that we don't really mind. Unfortunately, most people are more easily distracted than I am. I know that almost everyone has some fantasy for the future...most of which are not going to happen...but most people seem content enough with today to get by. Me, I never was very focused on today. Today was an inconvenience, a necessary evil, a waiting room where I'd sit and make plans for my tomorrow. The longer I waited, the bigger my plans became...I had a lot of time to dream up a pretty elaborate blueprint. I didn't much care what happened or didn't happen today; today is boring. Better things were coming, in time, and all I had to do was wait it out. There would be a moment, at which point all the plans I'd made would set into motion. Tomorrow. I knew that when it came, I had to be ready. And I am.
Ready and waiting.
My life lately has given me plenty to keep me occupied, but not the stuff dreams are made of. Not the stuff you see when you think about tomorrow. Tomorrow is a far off place that I envisioned very specifically; distant, yes, but not so far that I didn't think I'd be there already. Tomorrow is the only thing that got me through a good chunk of my life, the belief that these days would be soon be over and the future would bring something new. That everything before was just a prologue to a much more enticing story.
In chapter one he sits and waits,
In chapter two, he sighs.
By chapter three, he's fallen asleep,
In chapter four, he dies.
The end. Turns out, it isn't much of a story.
Have I always wanted what I want now? No...what I wanted, when I was young, was much simpler, the kind of life some people actually find. I merely wanted to be like everyone else, in every way possible.
Maybe I always knew it was impossible, and that's what caused me to want it so badly. I was in denial. And then...when I realized that it wouldn't happen for me...well, that was a big moment. That was when everything changed. That was when I started thinking about tomorrow.
I made plans. I prepared. I did everything I could think of to slingshot myself one day forward. It was a crazy time for me, which maybe explains how I could've been so sure it was on the horizon. I saw tomorrow so clearly, I could feel precisely what it felt like to be there, and I lived today with the certainty that I would be in another time and place very soon. Today, I was faced with setback after setback, but I never lost sight of tomorrow.
But the sun has risen and set maybe a thousand times since then. One thousand new dawns, and not single one of them has brought tomorrow. I'm surprised at how quickly days go by, and then weeks and even months...already. Days filled with activity and yet nothing happens. It's easy to see how people stay on the same calendar page for years on end, how the daily grind only slooowly crushes hope into talcum powder. When does it stop? The older I get, the harder it is to imagine having something new to wake up to. I have responsibilities now that I didn't when I was younger and freer to dream about all the great things headed my way. There's still a lot I want to learn, and very much I'd like to do, but there's never any time for it today. I put it off for tomorrow.
And I know better. I'm smart enough to know that I could die today...or, if not this today, then another one just like it. The future is we make of it, that's true...but we have limited materials to start with, and some of our tools are shoddy. Like so many people, now, I make promises for tomorrow because I can't quite accept that I've failed, just as they have, to be everything I wanted to be. My big ideas now sound just as pathetic as everybody else's. You know that feeling of hearing someone talk about the big plans they have, and they're really excited about it and they think it's going to happen, and just from who they are and where they're at in life, you can tell that it isn't? And don't you just nod and smile and tell them to go for it, but inside you're just cringing because you feel bad for them for being so deluded? If you've ever had a conversation with me, you know the feeling. It's the feeling I get every time I open my mouth now. Dead man talking. I'm desperate to get to the other side, to tell people about what happened instead of the things that are going to...but nothing changes.
Today passes again and again. I wait for tomorrow.
Days seem shorter than they are
Finish counting all the stars.
Feel the years wind down again
Another paycheck to cash in.
May the lord of flesh and bone
Leave you some to call your own
As we slowly make our way
Through another shapeless day...
I know I'm not the only one being mashed up by the daily grind. It seems to be a universal killer. It seems like most people foolishly believe they can avoid it, but few do, with the rest of us bound into lives that were never appealing. For us, escape is a valuable commodity, something no amount of material gain could ever negate. The need to get away is right up there with food, shelter, and clothing. And given what I'd been through, I've needed it more than ever.
I've lived in Los Angeles for going on six years now, and after so long there isn't a single corner of it I can escape to. There are memories everywhere, familiar faces and places. So when a rare (and accidental) opportunity for travel recently presented itself, I seized it instantly, in a very un-me fashion. Since when am I spontaneous? Since I found myself in the position of being tied down, I suppose. With age comes responsibility, and the chances to run free are few and far between. So I didn't hesitate to take mine.
First, I went to San Francisco to visit some friends who have moved up there from LA. I had an amazing time...it was nice to see old friends and go places I can't go at home, but what really made it so good was the simple fact that I wasn't here anymore. I'm not sure how much I can communicate how good it was to be away from LA and work and everything in my life right now. I didn't know how desperately I needed get out of Los Angeles until I was already out of it.
I've never had a getaway that felt quite so much like I got away. My weekends aren't relaxing; I tutor, I write, I catch up with friends, I read scripts, I try and get my apartment in shape, I squeeze in time to get my oil changed, get a haircut, etc. etc. Even though I often do fun things, I rarely relax and never get my head out of all my LA responsibilities. When I return to work every Monday, I'm hardly refreshed; I am frustrated that it's come so soon, that I haven't done half of what I needed to do, and I still have a pile of stuff that now must wait until the next weekend. It's never the break that it's intended to be.
San Francisco, however, was a real and true, honest-to-god escape. I came alive there, and it had nothing to do with the city itself or the people I saw or anything I did. I was free in a way that I am not, anymore, in Los Angeles. I was surprised to discover that I'd lost so much of myself, and also surprised to realize that it could recovered in a new location. This was the real me, and it had nothing to do with Hollywood or filmmaking--maybe those aren't the voids in my life. It had to do with adventure, spontaneity, strength, comfort, confrontation...escape. Even those few days away from the city of angels felt like a rebellion. Like I was leaving it behind for good. Getting away was amazing; it was like torture coming home.
Then, the weekend after, I went to Seattle. I didn't tell my parents or my sister I was coming; I just showed up. None of us really thought I'd be back until next Christmas, so it was a nice way to break up the year. Seattle wasn't nearly the escapade San Francisco was; it was more about comfort, and stability, as usual. I've been missing those things especially, lately. There was a lot I needed to talk to Tiffany about, since she knows more about me than anyone...I needed some perspective in light of recent events. "That's the most fucked up thing I've ever heard," she said when I told her, and she wasn't joking. It was exactly the reaction I needed.
I thought I might tell my mom about what's been going on...I don't know why. Maybe I have some fantasy about maternal comfort, some magical motherly solution to life's deepest and darkest problems. "There, there, it's okay." It seemed possible, until I arrived. My mother has passed along some wise words over the years, but when it comes to the larger things I've faced, she's at a loss. She doesn't know about most of them, and I've often wanted to tell her, but there's rarely a way in to that conversation, and she'd have a hard time handling it anyway. My dad said I shouldn't tell her...I probably shouldn't have told him either...but it didn't matter, anyway, when it got down to it, because there was a never a moment between us where two people would have that conversation. There never has been. I don't blame them for it...I've been aware since I was very young that I live in a different world than they do, and I always will. Why should I bring my demons to their dinner table? They won't understand them, they won't be able to fight them or lend a helping hand, and they'd be frightened. I sit quietly with a load on my mind, and sometimes they look at me and I can see them wondering. They know they don't know me like they know each other. But I don't think there's any way that they could.
It wasn't until Easter Sunday that I really had time to deal with what went down these past couple months. Up until then, I hadn't had a real moment away and alone. The sky was sunny when I had the idea to go for a walk on my own, but as soon as I'd thought of it there were mimosas and brunch was almost ready and I'd arrived so recently. It would be rude to wander off alone so soon. I decided it might be nicer to go after breakfast, anyway, and walk off the eggs and french toast. A couple hours later the sky was gray, which was just fine with me...I walked and listened to my iPod. I felt cold droplets fall on my face, and put my hood on. Soon after, it was full-on raining.
I passed a few families gathered for the holiday, but they soon retreated from the drizzle. I selected songs that chronicled a certain section of my life. "Legacy." "Judas." And of course, "Alexander's Nocturne." My nocturne. A song to complement the darkness, one that I always felt ended too abruptly, though now that feels appropriate. I chose these songs because I hadn't had time to listen to them recently and really deal with what they mean now; how, after what happened, it seems like our fate was sealed just in the notes and lyrics. On the beach, in the rain, I was finally far enough away and alone enough to really cry, to mourn what I lost but more importantly, the loss itself. They were not selfish tears. I could've stayed out there for hours, probably, with just me and gray skies and the sound, but my family would have wondered, and worried. They already thought I was weird enough for going on a walk alone. Before I turned back, I stood on a rock in a display of movie-like visual empowerment and felt much stronger for having worked through it. Not better, but stronger...which usually gets me by.
On the plane back from Seattle, and the one from San Francisco, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was flying away from something important, leaving something behind...leaving myself behind. I had no desire to return to LA...what, exactly, is there to return to? Seattle felt like yesterday, San Francisco gave me a little taste of tomorrow...both more appealing than today in LA, for as long as this lasts. I've trapped myself here, trying to get somewhere that can never satisfy me, and I've become someone I'm not. Maybe I was always doomed to be here, or someplace just like it...but I'm pretty sure I had a chance, even if it was a long shot, of getting to a place in life I'd actually want to be. I'm not sure exactly what caused things to work out the way they have...LA was once a land of opportunity for me, and now it's a prison in which I'm living the kind of life I came here to avoid. Would it be better somewhere else? Not necessarily. I've made a life for myself here, and starting over somewhere else could only set me back in terms of progress. But only a crazy person keeps on doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results...ordinary people are the ones who know something isn't working and don't make a change. Am I crazy? Am I ordinary? Somehow, I have a feeling I am both. It isn't a good combination...so wouldn't it be wise to make a change?
Doors are shutting behind me, slamming one by one. I can hear the locks click shortly after. Now all but the last one is closed.
It's the one I'll have to shut behind me on my way out.
You can fulfill
Your wildest ambitions
And I'm sure you will
Lose your inhibitions
So open yourself for me...
Risk your health for me...
If you want my love.
If you want my love...
The sun went down recently on the first chapters of my life, and a new one rose to take its place. A sinister sun. We may be on our way up now, but in the cruelest way possible. This is early morn, just after dawn, the sky still a murky midnight blue. There's not enough light to see anything yet, and it's very cold. And still. It's early. Too early for all but a scattered few to want my love, and too late for the rest. There's a fine, fine line between the darkness and dawn...
Thinking back on things...I asked for it, didn't I? I could never truly love anyone who hadn't been to hell. I know it wasn't me who sent him there, but when you add it all up, I probably had a hand in it. The fact remains that, once again, I wasn't able to love someone properly. I was too fickle. There was a time when I was the one, between us, who deserved to die...and maybe I still do. I hurt people. I can't commit. I've been unfaithful. And every time, I care less and less. So why am I the one who survived? Isn't it me who should be facing my worst nightmare? I did face it, vicariously...and now I know it's out there. Near me. Sometimes sleeping right next to me. I know that it will come after me again, sometime, and that if I ever let my guard down again, it'll be right there. And probably not in the mood to spare me.
I wish we could've left it alone. A nice story...happy days of yore with a semisweet ending...not so bad, in comparison to the others. It was maybe the most cheerful tale I had to tell...the one that wasn't finished. But I should've known...it wasn't that the ending wasn't cruel, just that it hadn't come yet. The ending always comes eventually. Darkness follows the light, without fail. For a couple years, I followed that mantra, and the very second I broke down the wall a little, something really bad came in. It just goes to show...even without my own bad behavior, something will always come along and spin us around anyway. My mind isn't quite flexible enough to bend around all this...the loops and circles, parallels and mirrors...a funhouse, distorting what was once an innocent romp and turning it into some nightmare world, in which not even the people we know and love look familiar. At least, not at first.
I guess I was lonelier than usual...maybe it had been too long since I'd had somebody love me. I wanted to feel it again, and yes...I wanted closure. Some part of me wasn't content with having a nice, open-ended story unfinished down south somewhere. My instincts told me something wasn't right at first...beware, beware...but I didn't listen. I wanted to believe that things were just as they used to be, and would be for awhile longer. I found myself remembering what love left like, and if not feeling it again, aware of a rapidly approaching facsimile. Old habits die hard, and they don't always know that they're dying. We weren't ready yet to talk about the future...or much of the past. But the present, we both knew, was nice when we were together. For a limited time only.
More than two months later, I vividly remember the boringness of death (or whatever you want to call it). Pink flowers blossoming on a branch. Twittering birds in the tree. One of those rare moments when you don't care how you behave or what you look like, walking around in all black, crying in the street behind dark sunglasses. Society's basic rules of order melt away because only life and death matter. For long minutes at a time, I couldn't speak or move. The only explanation I could muster was written on a yellow pad, in my very neatest handwriting, "There was an emergency. I had to go." In such moments, everything becomes individual, noticeable, immediate but untouchable and very far away. Beyond that, it's very hard to describe. I'd felt a similar feeling a few times before...it's something like disbelief, except the tightening of the chest, the knot in your stomach lets you know it's really happening. It took awhile to process, but I do remember a distinct moment of acceptance. And even though I'm not, I now know what it's like to believe that you're dying.
Shouldn't that make a difference, change me in some profound way, show me that I must do more with my life? Shouldn't this have been the catalyst? Did I just slumber through my wakeup call? In any dramatic piece, I would have learned something that got me the hell out of here and took me somewhere better. That first worst day, I was so inspired...I was a wreck, but inspired. I thought of a hundred ways to change my life, and the lives of others, to make the most out of whatever time I had left, regardless of how much time that was. I wish this was the thing that made me say, "You know what? Fuck it." I wish I'd packed up and moved, or not packed up but just gotten in my car and driven away until I felt like stopping. I wanted to. I thought about it. I could've, without worrying about consequences until sometime later. But I didn't. Something stopped me. I'm not young enough to get away with rash actions quite so easily; rash actions get people killed these days, believe me. I wanted it to force me to make changes, yet all it did was show me that I could, and would, go back to the status quo because it feels like my duty. Because people go to work even when they feel awful inside, because life goes on for the healthy and the slowly dying alike. Because there's no comfort package for those who are almost infected. We just return. Because that's what the real world is. People going through shit and pretending they're not. Suffering and getting the job done, not for a bigger purpose but because that's how the bills get paid. Trying to get through today, trying to get to tomorrow...maybe dying before they realize they'll never make it. It's not at all like a fantasy.
But the more I do things by the book, the more I think I was onto something when I was fucking everything up and pissing everyone off. At least that had momentum. Does doing the right thing ever feel good? Does it ever lead up to anything bigger than a stifled yawn? What about when doing the right thing is wrong for you? Does that make it not the right thing? I mean, I could've overreacted and sent my life spiraling out of control based on a moment, a whim, panic and bereavement. I could've gone apeshit loco like I did in the past when things didn't go according to plan, and in many ways, I wish I had. At least then I'd be living, breathing, feeling. Shoving it down, not feeling it, going through the motions with a smile and not telling anyone my life's been shot to hell ...that isn't who I am. I deal with things. I'm a dealer. I confront them head-on, I get right into the thick of things because I'm not afraid to get messy...except, I guess not, because that's not what I did this time. I've changed...I'm grown up...I'm boring. Today goes by again and again, and never once do I do anything that feels like I did it. When do I get to be me again? Never?? Am I forever stuck carrying on with the pathetic life of the mediocre motherfucker staring out of the mirror at me? I wish he didn't look so much like this guy I once knew who was going to turn out much better...
I made it through with my mediocre life intact, alright, and from this end, it's easy to say I'm just being dramatic. I've tried too hard, in the past, to explain my worldview to those who can never see it. The number 26 alone was enough for me to believe. I wish you could see how things stack together...how, with only a few words, an entire story can come crashing down around you like it was always going to. Bad things happen, yes, but not to me. For me, they're written. The moment they occur, it's obvious that it was always going to play out that way. All the pieces fall into place. The a-ha! The gotcha! The rug, given a swift and sordid pull out from under me. The songs that played, the things that happened, all seem perfectly placed to happen just so. I see very distinctly how everything lined up to cause exactly this, I connect all the hairy black dots...how I wandered down some preset path and stupidly into a trap, and I can't quite explain how it feels, or how I know. But I do know. I make choices, but they always steer me the same way. Life twists and turns and goes out of its way just to take me back where I started. All roads lead to Hell, no matter who's coming with me. What, don't you believe me? Isn't this proof enough? Even now, some people have a hard time accepting that I'm doomed. But I don't. Call it self-sabotage if you will, even if it's often unwitting...but there is certainly something fishy going on with me and cosmos.
There was a time, several years back. when I described myself as dead. Maybe it was a touch dramatic, but what I really meant was that I no longer looked forward to tomorrow. Up until that point, my whole life, I'd had a vision of something I desperately wanted and suddenly it became impossible for me to ever have it. Given that, I didn't care anymore...life or death, it didn't matter. There was a hollowness inside me that made me feel like I didn't want to live anymore. I hurt myself, I thought a lot about suicide, I'd go through bouts of craziness because it was the only time I got to feel anything besides the agonizing emptiness that seemed to permeate my soul. Having lost any chance at the life I wanted, I no longer cared what happened to me.
But something kept me alive anyway.
It took a long time to fill that hollowness. Exactly a year, and even then, not quickly. I filled it with dreams. Since I could no longer have the life I'd been working toward, I did what came naturally to me...I dreamed up a new one. A beautiful one, a better one...and ultimately, an impossible one. I tried hard to rebuild my life, and though I made mistakes, I also tried to be a good person. A lot of what I wanted wasn't selfish, even if it did factor into my own glorification. I'm a dreamer, always have been, and the lines between fantasy and reality blur for me more often than is healthy. My fantasies feel real to me, and a part of me lives in that world...my new goal in life became to bring it with me, to make my world a reality, and being a filmmaker was only one way I wanted to go about it. It was so real to me. I saw it so clearly. Somehow, I thought others would be able to see it, too...that other people would want to see it, believe in me, make sacrifices to make my fantasies a reality. I'm not sure why I believed that, besides a combination of thinking the world owed me something and believing that I had this vision for a reason. Out the ashes he rises to rebuild and enlighten the world...or whatever. It would have been a cool story.
But I'm the only one. And I can't do it alone. No one's ever been willing to go the distance with me. It's not that I blame them, for choosing their own ways...for breaking away from a future I think is better for them, and everybody. I'm just confused, I guess, about what the hell any of this was for, and at a loss for what to do now that I know it's over. I can't describe, exactly, what my vision was...it was more like a feeling, and it doesn't translate into the harsh, bland language of the real world. My work is what kept me alive last time I wanted to die...dreams that it would lead not just to success, but to world domination. (That's overstating it a little, but you get the gist.) It may not have been realistic, but it was real to me. I did everything with the absolute knowledge that I'd make it there someday. And I never will. Not even close. I've lost an all-new set of goals, of dreams, my life's work already undone. Again. I haven't stopped trying, but I don't know why I try anymore, except for the fact that people who do nothing have no right to complain when nothing happens. I still get up, every today, knowing that tomorrow is far more than a day away.
How is someone someone who wanted such big things supposed to care about all this daily bullshit? Everyone dreams of a better life, but I'm not sure how many truly expected to have it already. I don't know how many bet their whole identity on that assumption. I did believe the world owed me for a certain level of torment, and I liked to believe I'd get something back. Now I know that's not how it works, but it's a little late to change my whole world view...and believe me, the view I used to have was spectacular. Why should I be content with this world when the one I dreamed up is infinitely better? I used work because it was important, because of the mission...and now it seems it's just entertainment. There are few things in life less entertaining. I'll struggle my whole life just to accomplish the first couple baby steps in my master plan. So what's the point? What does it matter if I start, knowing that I'll never finish? It doesn't. The world will get along the same with or without me, and I'm the only one I matter to. Except I don't anymore. When I realized I'd never be normal, becoming extraordinary was the goal that kept me alive. Now that's not happening. I'm not normal, I'm not exceptional...it's too late for the former and the latter doesn't want me...I'm just at some weird nothing place in between. For all the faith I have in things to come now, I might as well be dead again.
The sun comes up, the sun goes down, but it's always the same damn day. They bleed into each other and blur, passing quickly if not painlessly, barely making their presence known. Things change but it's the kind of progress not visible to the naked eye. The real me, the one I miss so terribly, does not live in Los Angeles anymore. He moved on some time ago, and someday I'll have to track him down. But not today.
Tomorrow...whenever that is.
When the singer's gone, let the song go on,
It's a fine line between the darkness and the dawn.
They say in the darkest night, there's a light beyond...
But the ending always comes at last.
Endings always come too fast.
They come too fast, but they past too slow.
I love you, and that's all I know.
Recent events have taught me the value of life...or so you'd think. I am glad not to be dying. But dead is another story. I don't want to die...I can't be bothered to truly care one way or the other anymore...I'm just not that thrilled with living, now that it's not the life I created anymore. I didn't plan for a single fiber of this. I'm getting too old to believe in a great white beyond, a time when every single bit of me gets to realize its full potential. There's a simple truth in this world: if things are the way they are today, chances are they'll stay that way. Every day.
It's been a long time since anything in my life was seriously fucked up. Even in all the horror, it feels comfortable and familiar, like a long lost evil friend. Maybe I'm just used to it; I adjusted quickly. I feel bad for moving on, for being okay, for being able to laugh and smile just as I used to. I feel weird about facing this and just going back to normal. I thought about quitting my job. I thought about what I'm really doing with my life, and not doing, and what I should be doing. How I'm spending hours of my day that will never replaced. How futile most of it is in the grand scheme of things. How life is too short to do too much that you don't want to. But thinking is so much easier than doing anything. If I could do everything I've thought of, I'd be a legend by now, and not just in my own mind. The world would be a very different place.
It was a long, slow process finding out that I am now the way I always will be. That no matter what I achieve, so many things will never change. That no matter what I do in it, the world will remain the same. That I will be the only person who ever sees the things I've seen. I've seen so many people plan for tomorrow and yet never take actions that would lead them there today. Me, I took the steps...I tried to, anyway. I didn't take a single day off in my search for the next big thing, never put anything off for a rainy day. At least, not consciously. And...foolishly, perhaps...I believed that was enough to take me there. But my vision was just that. A mirage.
Now I know. For all you dreamers out there waiting for this to finally be over, and that to come and save you from the monotony that is this present day, I've got news for you. Tomorrow may not be coming. And today isn't such a bad day, always..today, there are distractions. Morsels of hope just enticing to keep me here another day. A raise, a promotion, a new writing gig to distract me from my own works. I'm blowing through this industry a lot faster than most people, and it would be exciting if it wasn't snail-paced compared to the speed I'd need to do everything I wanted. Instead, I'm completely indifferent to more money, a better title, a chance to prove to some people that I can fix almost anything as long as it's in screenplay format. I'm as bored and dissatisfied with it as ever. Sure, it sounds like progress on paper, but it doesn't taste anything like what I wanted. So what the fuck?
It takes a certain kind of person to really survive. That's what I do best. It takes a lot to make me flinch these days. Still, strength comes at a pretty strong price. Tragedies get easier to deal with the more they come around, but every one drains me a little more of my faith. There are sacrifices to be made. This latest one took a lot out of me. When I walk through the world I have a distinct sense that I'm not a part of it anymore--at least, not the parts it would seem. As if I needed to be any more guarded, and feel even further removed. People my age are supposed to be doing a lot of things, and one of them is being in a relationship...or trying to find one, anyway. That pursuit, maybe, breaks up the daily monotony. But love is a joke to me now, and the punchline is deadly. I don't have hope anymore...not about that. It's much easier not to, and I'm more content because without the possibility of love in the air, there's so much less disappointment. Something inside me shut down, closed up shop. I'm not available for love anymore, and it isn't looking for me. But having given up on that, and goals that steer me toward greatness...I don't know what I want anymore. Nothing really. After accepting the fact that I will be alone, I've felt a lot less lonely. Ever since what was probably the worst day of my life so far, I haven't been angry at myself. I haven't hurt myself, or even wanted to. I don't think I hate myself anymore...I don't think I care enough about myself for such a strong reaction. I look at myself, and see failure. I don't hope for improvement, because even when things get better, they don't really. I'll never believe that I'm safe. I've faced the Big Nasty one too many times for that.
When I close my eyes, I can still feel all the good things, all the moments I loved in my life. It hurts, but it's also nice. I'm grateful. Some days, it takes a lot of effort to get out of bed and face the world...when I know that today will be a day of disappointment. Other days are a breeze, and blow by with just as much impact. It feels like life is over. I'm disconnected from everything. I haven't felt anything new in ages. I keep waiting for something never comes, and it's agony. It's strange, because I still get a lot of enjoyment out of things...I have a lot of things to live for. Except for a few medium-sized drawbacks, this is a pretty good life. It just isn't mine. I want my actions to mean something. I want to be somebody. I want to feel like the actual me. Being a nobody doesn't fucking suit me. But there's not much I can do to make today better, and no amount of fighting will make tomorrow actually come tomorrow. I'm a whiner, I'm a self-saboteur, and my Achilles heel is a curiously misplaced sense of entitlement. Of all this, I'm aware. But none of it's changing. I can't suddenly decide that I'm okay with mediocrity just for the hell of it. I can't forget what it felt like to believe in the very best version of myself...to be bound for better things than these in every arena. I've always been afraid to commit to anyone or anything, because I'm always holding out for something better. That was a mistake, apparently...but most of my life has moved on without me since I realized it. All around me, the people I know are becoming adults, and it disgusts me...even though it's happening to me, too, regardless of all my kicking and screaming. I have stubbornly refused to find myself, and resisted every attempt the world has made at classification, because I know wherever I end up, I'll be disappointed. Maybe I'd rather be nothing than be trapped in an identity that doesn't fulfill me. But now I'm facing the consequences of nothingness.
Once again, life has got me good and angry. LA has gotten on my bad side on too many times...this town has put me in a really pissed off mood. Still, I'm not leaving. I know that if I left, I'd find a certain part of myself that's missing, that little piece I was reunited with in San Francisco. But I'd also lose a lot of time that I can't afford. What's right for me and what's best for my life are two very different animals, but for now, I'll stick with the old standby. I won't stay here forever, but I will stay long enough to feel I made a concerted effort. In the meantime, I've engaged in some questionable behavior just to feel younger and dumber. It's nice while it lasts, though I'm careful not to let it get out of hand. Going out of control too quickly can be dangerous...speed kills, if you know what I mean. That's at least one thing I'll never do, but the rest is up for grabs, I guess. I don't have nearly as much pride or self-respect as I used to, and just like a few years ago, I can't be bothered to care much about the results anymore. I'm an adult now, and it's given birth to a spoiled, angry baby who takes over when daddy's off-duty. I may recover someday, but for the time being, I'm a soulless machine. This world has done its share of awful things to me, though the worst was letting me think that it would let up someday. It'd be naive to assume that I've been through it all, but it already feels like I've been through enough for a lifetime. What else is there? Oh, it'll show me. I thought maybe I was being taken out of the fold...I thought they'd finally decided to kill me. Slowly, painfully...and with the one weapon I'm most afraid of. More than anything else, I fear death by cliche.
But I'm still here..and, it seems. most likely will be for awhile longer. I remember what I told myself when this year began. That this is a time for suffering. That, if I don't put some time in, I can't expect any reward. So I'm putting my time in...reluctantly, but by my own volition. I'm playing the same game everyone else my age is playing. Some will give up...some will move away...some will die before they get there. The rest will be up there on the big screen. I didn't expect this struggle; I didn't anticipate this much competition. It's tempting to get out now and live a more fulfilling life, one that at least feels like something of my choosing. I will, if things stay the way they are much longer. Today is my birthday, and I hate being reminded that another year of youth has passed and I wasn't able to enjoy it. I've got a few more levels to clear before reach anything that even approaches satisfaction. The wicked don't rest, and that's how I have for awhile. I'm a survivor even in the harshest environments. If I have to turn my back on people I love...if I leave to leave behind the sick and dying...that's what I'll do. I'd like to fight a better fight and win a better war, but I've got my hands full on this perfunctory battlefield. I'm capable of more. I didn't have to be just another soldier. But here, I'm expendable just like the rest of 'em. To handle that, I have put the good boy on the shelf for awhile. Maybe for good. I'll drag myself out there day and night; both work and play have a similar hollowness. This isn't the real me, but apparently, it's who I am.
The thing I still don't quite get is, all my life, pretty much everyone who got to know me told me I was special. And then, right after graduation, everyone decided to line up and tell me how special I'm not. In one fell swoop, the entire world just changed its mind about me. I'm still not over it. I may never be. When I was young, I made plans. I was depending on people to follow through with what they said they were going to. One way or another, pretty much everyone I know has disappointed me, though I'm the one I'm most ashamed of. I lived my whole life determined not to give up on myself, determined to reach my goals, no matter how farfetched they were. I clung to them long after everyone else gave up, and even when, one by one, people started trying to discourage me. Everyone else knew where I was really headed long before I did...to a good place, but not a great one. I truly believed that, through fighting hard enough, you could achieve anything. That might even be true, if you're not the only one fighting. Everyone thinks I'm naive for believing that I shouldn't have to adhere to these pointless perfucnctions of the real world. I think they're naive for not banding with me so that we don't have to. I still believe that we can do better...I just don't think we will.
For that reason, and many others, I could probably give up right now. I don't care much about what's actually going to happen to me, though it'd be nice if it was somewhat good. I don't have any real goals, and I don't believe that what I achieve is going to make me happy. There's a giant void within me, left by all those departed dreams. I don't know what can ever fill it. I don't know what to look for. I don't know what to want. Maybe I'll never accept that I'm so much less than I thought I'd be. Maybe I'm too damaged to ever recover. Maybe I'll always struggle and die miserably. But 'til then, I'll be here. Stuck forever, maybe, but not stopping. The sun will continue rise and fall above me, and maybe never bring that day I was so looking forward to. But recently, I had to face the possibility that I was dying...and it scared me. The pain, the shame...those were frightening...but what really terrified me was the way it would kill any chance of tomorrow. I was scared I'd never see it...that when the sun set on this chapter of my life, it would set on me. That means something...that somehow, in spite of everything, there's still a small part of me looking toward the the future and hoping.
Once again, I made it out alive. My days aren't yet numbered.
So, if it decides to come around...I will live to see tomorrow.
"Regardless of your response, Chris... I love you. A part of me never stopped loving you. Another part of me feels its just been woken up from a very long sleep, and you're the prince whose kiss allowed that. What I'm trying to say is... if we can't be together after this... just know that in some place that never quite existed... and in some time that never came to be... you and I had something that was beautiful, and amazing, and inspiring... the kind of love that you find in movies and dreams... and I'll hold on to that possibility with pride 'til the day I die."
13 8 6 26 20
TOMORROW.
_______________________________________________________________
It'll all click when the mortgage clears,
All our fears will disappear.
Now you go to bed, I'm staying here
I've got another level that I want to clear.
My skin feels like orange peel
My eyes have been vacuum-sealed
My organs move like a squirm of eels
We should be more adventurous with our meals.
They annoy me,
Those who employ me,
They could destroy me,
They should enjoy me.
We eat Chinese off our knees
And look for each other in the TV screen...
The sun goes up
And the sun goes down.
I drag myself into the town.
All I do
I want to do with you...
Every day
I'm at my desk.
At my desk, I'm like the rest.
All I do
I want to do with you.
On the city's skin they move en masse
Like a rash on the back of a manky cat
Now in I go, like a fool
I can't resist dipping in the pool
I watch them watch me I watch them too
Across the street, across the room
I dress myself like a charcoal sketch
My eyes are green and my hair's a mess
They annoy me
Those who employ me
They could destroy me
They should enjoy me
We eat Chinese off our knees
And look for each other in the TV screen...
The sun goes up
And the sun goes down.
I drag myself into the town.
All I do
I want to do with you...
Every day
I'm at my desk.
At my desk, I'm like the rest.
All I do
I want to do with you.
The cells I am at the moment will soon die...
But I will be here.
Oh, I'll still be here.
The cells I am at the moment will soon die...
But I will be here.
Oh, I'll still be here.
Every day, every day, every day...
Every day, every day, every day...
Every day, every day, every day...
Every day, every day, every day...
Every day, every day, every day...
Every day, every day, every day...
Every day, every day, every day...
Every day, every day, every day...
Every day, every day, every day...
"Don't be thinking about me when I'm gone."
"I wasn't thinking about you when you were here. "
_______________________________________________________________
I cried, just a little, when waiting for the elevator to take me down and out of there.
I didn't expect to. I didn't expect anything. To be honest, by the time I actually got to that room, I didn't expect bad news. I'd dealt with it already. I made the decision to leave work early abruptly, fought traffic to make it in time, desperate to just get as much of it behind me as would fit back there. I didn't have time to think about it. I just went. Still, I had the slightest sense of dread, sitting there and waiting for news. It sure didn't feel like a life-altering moment...it sure didn't seem like the beginning of the end...but does it ever? You never know.
So I cried a little. Maybe it was relief, or maybe I was finally allowed to grieve the way one should, without having to think about themselves. The news was good to hear, and yet left a rather awkward, unfinished feeling over the whole experience. I'd survived. I was the lucky one. But someone else didn't fare so well.
Maybe I cried because I just didn't know what else would be appropriate.
If it wasn't already apparent, it sure is now. The days of innocence are long gone. A lot of people have mattered to me, but only a few have been monumental. Of those, only one wrapped up in a way that wasn't quite The. End. That relationship ended with an ellipses, maybe a question mark, but not an exclamation point or a period. I didn't exactly expect it to come around again, and I'm not sure I wanted it to. But it was nice to have the option, to leave it open. It's nice to know that someone out there loves you, and that maybe, if things realign just so, there's more to that story. With so much else in my life so finalized, I was happy leaving at least one avenue open-ended. I didn't know until afterward, but it was pretty much the only thing I had left that wasn't case closed.
Until recently, there was always reason to hope for tomorrow...
Well, he walked up to me
And he asked me if I wanted to dance...
He looked kinda nice,
And so I said I might take a chance.
When he danced he held me tight,
And when he walked me home that night,
All the stars were shining bright
And then he kissed me...
The future's a funny thing, in that people talk about it like it's going to happen. Tomorrow is the day dreams will come true, when we'll finish what we can't get done today. "I'll do it tomorrow." "I'll see you tomorrow." "I love ya, tomorrow." Promises, promises. Tomorrow is intangible, and we lie about it all the time.
I suppose, unless we die, some future is going to occur. But never the one we imagine. We talk about what will happen, what we'll do...we talk about tomorrow like it's set in stone. We make plans...some of them happen, many of them don't...we set forth with the best intentions but things never play out by the book. Life in general happens much this way, with most of our best laid plans never rising. I've always put a lot of stock in tomorrow, I've always thought about the things I'll do when it finally arrives. I have so many ideas, so many projects, but they're on hold for that hazy forthcoming day. Today, there's shit to do and bills to pay, but maybe tomorrow...
I'm losing track of the point of it. Progress is slow, change not guaranteed. For many of us, tomorrow never comes. We just live the same day over and over again, helpless to control most of what happens (or doesn't happen). We set our general course but make it only a fraction of the way to our destination...and I guess, in the best case scenario, life is supposed to provide us with enough distractions in the meantime so that we don't really mind. Unfortunately, most people are more easily distracted than I am. I know that almost everyone has some fantasy for the future...most of which are not going to happen...but most people seem content enough with today to get by. Me, I never was very focused on today. Today was an inconvenience, a necessary evil, a waiting room where I'd sit and make plans for my tomorrow. The longer I waited, the bigger my plans became...I had a lot of time to dream up a pretty elaborate blueprint. I didn't much care what happened or didn't happen today; today is boring. Better things were coming, in time, and all I had to do was wait it out. There would be a moment, at which point all the plans I'd made would set into motion. Tomorrow. I knew that when it came, I had to be ready. And I am.
Ready and waiting.
My life lately has given me plenty to keep me occupied, but not the stuff dreams are made of. Not the stuff you see when you think about tomorrow. Tomorrow is a far off place that I envisioned very specifically; distant, yes, but not so far that I didn't think I'd be there already. Tomorrow is the only thing that got me through a good chunk of my life, the belief that these days would be soon be over and the future would bring something new. That everything before was just a prologue to a much more enticing story.
In chapter one he sits and waits,
In chapter two, he sighs.
By chapter three, he's fallen asleep,
In chapter four, he dies.
The end. Turns out, it isn't much of a story.
Have I always wanted what I want now? No...what I wanted, when I was young, was much simpler, the kind of life some people actually find. I merely wanted to be like everyone else, in every way possible.
Maybe I always knew it was impossible, and that's what caused me to want it so badly. I was in denial. And then...when I realized that it wouldn't happen for me...well, that was a big moment. That was when everything changed. That was when I started thinking about tomorrow.
I made plans. I prepared. I did everything I could think of to slingshot myself one day forward. It was a crazy time for me, which maybe explains how I could've been so sure it was on the horizon. I saw tomorrow so clearly, I could feel precisely what it felt like to be there, and I lived today with the certainty that I would be in another time and place very soon. Today, I was faced with setback after setback, but I never lost sight of tomorrow.
But the sun has risen and set maybe a thousand times since then. One thousand new dawns, and not single one of them has brought tomorrow. I'm surprised at how quickly days go by, and then weeks and even months...already. Days filled with activity and yet nothing happens. It's easy to see how people stay on the same calendar page for years on end, how the daily grind only slooowly crushes hope into talcum powder. When does it stop? The older I get, the harder it is to imagine having something new to wake up to. I have responsibilities now that I didn't when I was younger and freer to dream about all the great things headed my way. There's still a lot I want to learn, and very much I'd like to do, but there's never any time for it today. I put it off for tomorrow.
And I know better. I'm smart enough to know that I could die today...or, if not this today, then another one just like it. The future is we make of it, that's true...but we have limited materials to start with, and some of our tools are shoddy. Like so many people, now, I make promises for tomorrow because I can't quite accept that I've failed, just as they have, to be everything I wanted to be. My big ideas now sound just as pathetic as everybody else's. You know that feeling of hearing someone talk about the big plans they have, and they're really excited about it and they think it's going to happen, and just from who they are and where they're at in life, you can tell that it isn't? And don't you just nod and smile and tell them to go for it, but inside you're just cringing because you feel bad for them for being so deluded? If you've ever had a conversation with me, you know the feeling. It's the feeling I get every time I open my mouth now. Dead man talking. I'm desperate to get to the other side, to tell people about what happened instead of the things that are going to...but nothing changes.
Today passes again and again. I wait for tomorrow.
Days seem shorter than they are
Finish counting all the stars.
Feel the years wind down again
Another paycheck to cash in.
May the lord of flesh and bone
Leave you some to call your own
As we slowly make our way
Through another shapeless day...
I know I'm not the only one being mashed up by the daily grind. It seems to be a universal killer. It seems like most people foolishly believe they can avoid it, but few do, with the rest of us bound into lives that were never appealing. For us, escape is a valuable commodity, something no amount of material gain could ever negate. The need to get away is right up there with food, shelter, and clothing. And given what I'd been through, I've needed it more than ever.
I've lived in Los Angeles for going on six years now, and after so long there isn't a single corner of it I can escape to. There are memories everywhere, familiar faces and places. So when a rare (and accidental) opportunity for travel recently presented itself, I seized it instantly, in a very un-me fashion. Since when am I spontaneous? Since I found myself in the position of being tied down, I suppose. With age comes responsibility, and the chances to run free are few and far between. So I didn't hesitate to take mine.
First, I went to San Francisco to visit some friends who have moved up there from LA. I had an amazing time...it was nice to see old friends and go places I can't go at home, but what really made it so good was the simple fact that I wasn't here anymore. I'm not sure how much I can communicate how good it was to be away from LA and work and everything in my life right now. I didn't know how desperately I needed get out of Los Angeles until I was already out of it.
I've never had a getaway that felt quite so much like I got away. My weekends aren't relaxing; I tutor, I write, I catch up with friends, I read scripts, I try and get my apartment in shape, I squeeze in time to get my oil changed, get a haircut, etc. etc. Even though I often do fun things, I rarely relax and never get my head out of all my LA responsibilities. When I return to work every Monday, I'm hardly refreshed; I am frustrated that it's come so soon, that I haven't done half of what I needed to do, and I still have a pile of stuff that now must wait until the next weekend. It's never the break that it's intended to be.
San Francisco, however, was a real and true, honest-to-god escape. I came alive there, and it had nothing to do with the city itself or the people I saw or anything I did. I was free in a way that I am not, anymore, in Los Angeles. I was surprised to discover that I'd lost so much of myself, and also surprised to realize that it could recovered in a new location. This was the real me, and it had nothing to do with Hollywood or filmmaking--maybe those aren't the voids in my life. It had to do with adventure, spontaneity, strength, comfort, confrontation...escape. Even those few days away from the city of angels felt like a rebellion. Like I was leaving it behind for good. Getting away was amazing; it was like torture coming home.
Then, the weekend after, I went to Seattle. I didn't tell my parents or my sister I was coming; I just showed up. None of us really thought I'd be back until next Christmas, so it was a nice way to break up the year. Seattle wasn't nearly the escapade San Francisco was; it was more about comfort, and stability, as usual. I've been missing those things especially, lately. There was a lot I needed to talk to Tiffany about, since she knows more about me than anyone...I needed some perspective in light of recent events. "That's the most fucked up thing I've ever heard," she said when I told her, and she wasn't joking. It was exactly the reaction I needed.
I thought I might tell my mom about what's been going on...I don't know why. Maybe I have some fantasy about maternal comfort, some magical motherly solution to life's deepest and darkest problems. "There, there, it's okay." It seemed possible, until I arrived. My mother has passed along some wise words over the years, but when it comes to the larger things I've faced, she's at a loss. She doesn't know about most of them, and I've often wanted to tell her, but there's rarely a way in to that conversation, and she'd have a hard time handling it anyway. My dad said I shouldn't tell her...I probably shouldn't have told him either...but it didn't matter, anyway, when it got down to it, because there was a never a moment between us where two people would have that conversation. There never has been. I don't blame them for it...I've been aware since I was very young that I live in a different world than they do, and I always will. Why should I bring my demons to their dinner table? They won't understand them, they won't be able to fight them or lend a helping hand, and they'd be frightened. I sit quietly with a load on my mind, and sometimes they look at me and I can see them wondering. They know they don't know me like they know each other. But I don't think there's any way that they could.
It wasn't until Easter Sunday that I really had time to deal with what went down these past couple months. Up until then, I hadn't had a real moment away and alone. The sky was sunny when I had the idea to go for a walk on my own, but as soon as I'd thought of it there were mimosas and brunch was almost ready and I'd arrived so recently. It would be rude to wander off alone so soon. I decided it might be nicer to go after breakfast, anyway, and walk off the eggs and french toast. A couple hours later the sky was gray, which was just fine with me...I walked and listened to my iPod. I felt cold droplets fall on my face, and put my hood on. Soon after, it was full-on raining.
I passed a few families gathered for the holiday, but they soon retreated from the drizzle. I selected songs that chronicled a certain section of my life. "Legacy." "Judas." And of course, "Alexander's Nocturne." My nocturne. A song to complement the darkness, one that I always felt ended too abruptly, though now that feels appropriate. I chose these songs because I hadn't had time to listen to them recently and really deal with what they mean now; how, after what happened, it seems like our fate was sealed just in the notes and lyrics. On the beach, in the rain, I was finally far enough away and alone enough to really cry, to mourn what I lost but more importantly, the loss itself. They were not selfish tears. I could've stayed out there for hours, probably, with just me and gray skies and the sound, but my family would have wondered, and worried. They already thought I was weird enough for going on a walk alone. Before I turned back, I stood on a rock in a display of movie-like visual empowerment and felt much stronger for having worked through it. Not better, but stronger...which usually gets me by.
On the plane back from Seattle, and the one from San Francisco, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was flying away from something important, leaving something behind...leaving myself behind. I had no desire to return to LA...what, exactly, is there to return to? Seattle felt like yesterday, San Francisco gave me a little taste of tomorrow...both more appealing than today in LA, for as long as this lasts. I've trapped myself here, trying to get somewhere that can never satisfy me, and I've become someone I'm not. Maybe I was always doomed to be here, or someplace just like it...but I'm pretty sure I had a chance, even if it was a long shot, of getting to a place in life I'd actually want to be. I'm not sure exactly what caused things to work out the way they have...LA was once a land of opportunity for me, and now it's a prison in which I'm living the kind of life I came here to avoid. Would it be better somewhere else? Not necessarily. I've made a life for myself here, and starting over somewhere else could only set me back in terms of progress. But only a crazy person keeps on doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results...ordinary people are the ones who know something isn't working and don't make a change. Am I crazy? Am I ordinary? Somehow, I have a feeling I am both. It isn't a good combination...so wouldn't it be wise to make a change?
Doors are shutting behind me, slamming one by one. I can hear the locks click shortly after. Now all but the last one is closed.
It's the one I'll have to shut behind me on my way out.
You can fulfill
Your wildest ambitions
And I'm sure you will
Lose your inhibitions
So open yourself for me...
Risk your health for me...
If you want my love.
If you want my love...
The sun went down recently on the first chapters of my life, and a new one rose to take its place. A sinister sun. We may be on our way up now, but in the cruelest way possible. This is early morn, just after dawn, the sky still a murky midnight blue. There's not enough light to see anything yet, and it's very cold. And still. It's early. Too early for all but a scattered few to want my love, and too late for the rest. There's a fine, fine line between the darkness and dawn...
Thinking back on things...I asked for it, didn't I? I could never truly love anyone who hadn't been to hell. I know it wasn't me who sent him there, but when you add it all up, I probably had a hand in it. The fact remains that, once again, I wasn't able to love someone properly. I was too fickle. There was a time when I was the one, between us, who deserved to die...and maybe I still do. I hurt people. I can't commit. I've been unfaithful. And every time, I care less and less. So why am I the one who survived? Isn't it me who should be facing my worst nightmare? I did face it, vicariously...and now I know it's out there. Near me. Sometimes sleeping right next to me. I know that it will come after me again, sometime, and that if I ever let my guard down again, it'll be right there. And probably not in the mood to spare me.
I wish we could've left it alone. A nice story...happy days of yore with a semisweet ending...not so bad, in comparison to the others. It was maybe the most cheerful tale I had to tell...the one that wasn't finished. But I should've known...it wasn't that the ending wasn't cruel, just that it hadn't come yet. The ending always comes eventually. Darkness follows the light, without fail. For a couple years, I followed that mantra, and the very second I broke down the wall a little, something really bad came in. It just goes to show...even without my own bad behavior, something will always come along and spin us around anyway. My mind isn't quite flexible enough to bend around all this...the loops and circles, parallels and mirrors...a funhouse, distorting what was once an innocent romp and turning it into some nightmare world, in which not even the people we know and love look familiar. At least, not at first.
I guess I was lonelier than usual...maybe it had been too long since I'd had somebody love me. I wanted to feel it again, and yes...I wanted closure. Some part of me wasn't content with having a nice, open-ended story unfinished down south somewhere. My instincts told me something wasn't right at first...beware, beware...but I didn't listen. I wanted to believe that things were just as they used to be, and would be for awhile longer. I found myself remembering what love left like, and if not feeling it again, aware of a rapidly approaching facsimile. Old habits die hard, and they don't always know that they're dying. We weren't ready yet to talk about the future...or much of the past. But the present, we both knew, was nice when we were together. For a limited time only.
More than two months later, I vividly remember the boringness of death (or whatever you want to call it). Pink flowers blossoming on a branch. Twittering birds in the tree. One of those rare moments when you don't care how you behave or what you look like, walking around in all black, crying in the street behind dark sunglasses. Society's basic rules of order melt away because only life and death matter. For long minutes at a time, I couldn't speak or move. The only explanation I could muster was written on a yellow pad, in my very neatest handwriting, "There was an emergency. I had to go." In such moments, everything becomes individual, noticeable, immediate but untouchable and very far away. Beyond that, it's very hard to describe. I'd felt a similar feeling a few times before...it's something like disbelief, except the tightening of the chest, the knot in your stomach lets you know it's really happening. It took awhile to process, but I do remember a distinct moment of acceptance. And even though I'm not, I now know what it's like to believe that you're dying.
Shouldn't that make a difference, change me in some profound way, show me that I must do more with my life? Shouldn't this have been the catalyst? Did I just slumber through my wakeup call? In any dramatic piece, I would have learned something that got me the hell out of here and took me somewhere better. That first worst day, I was so inspired...I was a wreck, but inspired. I thought of a hundred ways to change my life, and the lives of others, to make the most out of whatever time I had left, regardless of how much time that was. I wish this was the thing that made me say, "You know what? Fuck it." I wish I'd packed up and moved, or not packed up but just gotten in my car and driven away until I felt like stopping. I wanted to. I thought about it. I could've, without worrying about consequences until sometime later. But I didn't. Something stopped me. I'm not young enough to get away with rash actions quite so easily; rash actions get people killed these days, believe me. I wanted it to force me to make changes, yet all it did was show me that I could, and would, go back to the status quo because it feels like my duty. Because people go to work even when they feel awful inside, because life goes on for the healthy and the slowly dying alike. Because there's no comfort package for those who are almost infected. We just return. Because that's what the real world is. People going through shit and pretending they're not. Suffering and getting the job done, not for a bigger purpose but because that's how the bills get paid. Trying to get through today, trying to get to tomorrow...maybe dying before they realize they'll never make it. It's not at all like a fantasy.
But the more I do things by the book, the more I think I was onto something when I was fucking everything up and pissing everyone off. At least that had momentum. Does doing the right thing ever feel good? Does it ever lead up to anything bigger than a stifled yawn? What about when doing the right thing is wrong for you? Does that make it not the right thing? I mean, I could've overreacted and sent my life spiraling out of control based on a moment, a whim, panic and bereavement. I could've gone apeshit loco like I did in the past when things didn't go according to plan, and in many ways, I wish I had. At least then I'd be living, breathing, feeling. Shoving it down, not feeling it, going through the motions with a smile and not telling anyone my life's been shot to hell ...that isn't who I am. I deal with things. I'm a dealer. I confront them head-on, I get right into the thick of things because I'm not afraid to get messy...except, I guess not, because that's not what I did this time. I've changed...I'm grown up...I'm boring. Today goes by again and again, and never once do I do anything that feels like I did it. When do I get to be me again? Never?? Am I forever stuck carrying on with the pathetic life of the mediocre motherfucker staring out of the mirror at me? I wish he didn't look so much like this guy I once knew who was going to turn out much better...
I made it through with my mediocre life intact, alright, and from this end, it's easy to say I'm just being dramatic. I've tried too hard, in the past, to explain my worldview to those who can never see it. The number 26 alone was enough for me to believe. I wish you could see how things stack together...how, with only a few words, an entire story can come crashing down around you like it was always going to. Bad things happen, yes, but not to me. For me, they're written. The moment they occur, it's obvious that it was always going to play out that way. All the pieces fall into place. The a-ha! The gotcha! The rug, given a swift and sordid pull out from under me. The songs that played, the things that happened, all seem perfectly placed to happen just so. I see very distinctly how everything lined up to cause exactly this, I connect all the hairy black dots...how I wandered down some preset path and stupidly into a trap, and I can't quite explain how it feels, or how I know. But I do know. I make choices, but they always steer me the same way. Life twists and turns and goes out of its way just to take me back where I started. All roads lead to Hell, no matter who's coming with me. What, don't you believe me? Isn't this proof enough? Even now, some people have a hard time accepting that I'm doomed. But I don't. Call it self-sabotage if you will, even if it's often unwitting...but there is certainly something fishy going on with me and cosmos.
There was a time, several years back. when I described myself as dead. Maybe it was a touch dramatic, but what I really meant was that I no longer looked forward to tomorrow. Up until that point, my whole life, I'd had a vision of something I desperately wanted and suddenly it became impossible for me to ever have it. Given that, I didn't care anymore...life or death, it didn't matter. There was a hollowness inside me that made me feel like I didn't want to live anymore. I hurt myself, I thought a lot about suicide, I'd go through bouts of craziness because it was the only time I got to feel anything besides the agonizing emptiness that seemed to permeate my soul. Having lost any chance at the life I wanted, I no longer cared what happened to me.
But something kept me alive anyway.
It took a long time to fill that hollowness. Exactly a year, and even then, not quickly. I filled it with dreams. Since I could no longer have the life I'd been working toward, I did what came naturally to me...I dreamed up a new one. A beautiful one, a better one...and ultimately, an impossible one. I tried hard to rebuild my life, and though I made mistakes, I also tried to be a good person. A lot of what I wanted wasn't selfish, even if it did factor into my own glorification. I'm a dreamer, always have been, and the lines between fantasy and reality blur for me more often than is healthy. My fantasies feel real to me, and a part of me lives in that world...my new goal in life became to bring it with me, to make my world a reality, and being a filmmaker was only one way I wanted to go about it. It was so real to me. I saw it so clearly. Somehow, I thought others would be able to see it, too...that other people would want to see it, believe in me, make sacrifices to make my fantasies a reality. I'm not sure why I believed that, besides a combination of thinking the world owed me something and believing that I had this vision for a reason. Out the ashes he rises to rebuild and enlighten the world...or whatever. It would have been a cool story.
But I'm the only one. And I can't do it alone. No one's ever been willing to go the distance with me. It's not that I blame them, for choosing their own ways...for breaking away from a future I think is better for them, and everybody. I'm just confused, I guess, about what the hell any of this was for, and at a loss for what to do now that I know it's over. I can't describe, exactly, what my vision was...it was more like a feeling, and it doesn't translate into the harsh, bland language of the real world. My work is what kept me alive last time I wanted to die...dreams that it would lead not just to success, but to world domination. (That's overstating it a little, but you get the gist.) It may not have been realistic, but it was real to me. I did everything with the absolute knowledge that I'd make it there someday. And I never will. Not even close. I've lost an all-new set of goals, of dreams, my life's work already undone. Again. I haven't stopped trying, but I don't know why I try anymore, except for the fact that people who do nothing have no right to complain when nothing happens. I still get up, every today, knowing that tomorrow is far more than a day away.
How is someone someone who wanted such big things supposed to care about all this daily bullshit? Everyone dreams of a better life, but I'm not sure how many truly expected to have it already. I don't know how many bet their whole identity on that assumption. I did believe the world owed me for a certain level of torment, and I liked to believe I'd get something back. Now I know that's not how it works, but it's a little late to change my whole world view...and believe me, the view I used to have was spectacular. Why should I be content with this world when the one I dreamed up is infinitely better? I used work because it was important, because of the mission...and now it seems it's just entertainment. There are few things in life less entertaining. I'll struggle my whole life just to accomplish the first couple baby steps in my master plan. So what's the point? What does it matter if I start, knowing that I'll never finish? It doesn't. The world will get along the same with or without me, and I'm the only one I matter to. Except I don't anymore. When I realized I'd never be normal, becoming extraordinary was the goal that kept me alive. Now that's not happening. I'm not normal, I'm not exceptional...it's too late for the former and the latter doesn't want me...I'm just at some weird nothing place in between. For all the faith I have in things to come now, I might as well be dead again.
The sun comes up, the sun goes down, but it's always the same damn day. They bleed into each other and blur, passing quickly if not painlessly, barely making their presence known. Things change but it's the kind of progress not visible to the naked eye. The real me, the one I miss so terribly, does not live in Los Angeles anymore. He moved on some time ago, and someday I'll have to track him down. But not today.
Tomorrow...whenever that is.
When the singer's gone, let the song go on,
It's a fine line between the darkness and the dawn.
They say in the darkest night, there's a light beyond...
But the ending always comes at last.
Endings always come too fast.
They come too fast, but they past too slow.
I love you, and that's all I know.
Recent events have taught me the value of life...or so you'd think. I am glad not to be dying. But dead is another story. I don't want to die...I can't be bothered to truly care one way or the other anymore...I'm just not that thrilled with living, now that it's not the life I created anymore. I didn't plan for a single fiber of this. I'm getting too old to believe in a great white beyond, a time when every single bit of me gets to realize its full potential. There's a simple truth in this world: if things are the way they are today, chances are they'll stay that way. Every day.
It's been a long time since anything in my life was seriously fucked up. Even in all the horror, it feels comfortable and familiar, like a long lost evil friend. Maybe I'm just used to it; I adjusted quickly. I feel bad for moving on, for being okay, for being able to laugh and smile just as I used to. I feel weird about facing this and just going back to normal. I thought about quitting my job. I thought about what I'm really doing with my life, and not doing, and what I should be doing. How I'm spending hours of my day that will never replaced. How futile most of it is in the grand scheme of things. How life is too short to do too much that you don't want to. But thinking is so much easier than doing anything. If I could do everything I've thought of, I'd be a legend by now, and not just in my own mind. The world would be a very different place.
It was a long, slow process finding out that I am now the way I always will be. That no matter what I achieve, so many things will never change. That no matter what I do in it, the world will remain the same. That I will be the only person who ever sees the things I've seen. I've seen so many people plan for tomorrow and yet never take actions that would lead them there today. Me, I took the steps...I tried to, anyway. I didn't take a single day off in my search for the next big thing, never put anything off for a rainy day. At least, not consciously. And...foolishly, perhaps...I believed that was enough to take me there. But my vision was just that. A mirage.
Now I know. For all you dreamers out there waiting for this to finally be over, and that to come and save you from the monotony that is this present day, I've got news for you. Tomorrow may not be coming. And today isn't such a bad day, always..today, there are distractions. Morsels of hope just enticing to keep me here another day. A raise, a promotion, a new writing gig to distract me from my own works. I'm blowing through this industry a lot faster than most people, and it would be exciting if it wasn't snail-paced compared to the speed I'd need to do everything I wanted. Instead, I'm completely indifferent to more money, a better title, a chance to prove to some people that I can fix almost anything as long as it's in screenplay format. I'm as bored and dissatisfied with it as ever. Sure, it sounds like progress on paper, but it doesn't taste anything like what I wanted. So what the fuck?
It takes a certain kind of person to really survive. That's what I do best. It takes a lot to make me flinch these days. Still, strength comes at a pretty strong price. Tragedies get easier to deal with the more they come around, but every one drains me a little more of my faith. There are sacrifices to be made. This latest one took a lot out of me. When I walk through the world I have a distinct sense that I'm not a part of it anymore--at least, not the parts it would seem. As if I needed to be any more guarded, and feel even further removed. People my age are supposed to be doing a lot of things, and one of them is being in a relationship...or trying to find one, anyway. That pursuit, maybe, breaks up the daily monotony. But love is a joke to me now, and the punchline is deadly. I don't have hope anymore...not about that. It's much easier not to, and I'm more content because without the possibility of love in the air, there's so much less disappointment. Something inside me shut down, closed up shop. I'm not available for love anymore, and it isn't looking for me. But having given up on that, and goals that steer me toward greatness...I don't know what I want anymore. Nothing really. After accepting the fact that I will be alone, I've felt a lot less lonely. Ever since what was probably the worst day of my life so far, I haven't been angry at myself. I haven't hurt myself, or even wanted to. I don't think I hate myself anymore...I don't think I care enough about myself for such a strong reaction. I look at myself, and see failure. I don't hope for improvement, because even when things get better, they don't really. I'll never believe that I'm safe. I've faced the Big Nasty one too many times for that.
When I close my eyes, I can still feel all the good things, all the moments I loved in my life. It hurts, but it's also nice. I'm grateful. Some days, it takes a lot of effort to get out of bed and face the world...when I know that today will be a day of disappointment. Other days are a breeze, and blow by with just as much impact. It feels like life is over. I'm disconnected from everything. I haven't felt anything new in ages. I keep waiting for something never comes, and it's agony. It's strange, because I still get a lot of enjoyment out of things...I have a lot of things to live for. Except for a few medium-sized drawbacks, this is a pretty good life. It just isn't mine. I want my actions to mean something. I want to be somebody. I want to feel like the actual me. Being a nobody doesn't fucking suit me. But there's not much I can do to make today better, and no amount of fighting will make tomorrow actually come tomorrow. I'm a whiner, I'm a self-saboteur, and my Achilles heel is a curiously misplaced sense of entitlement. Of all this, I'm aware. But none of it's changing. I can't suddenly decide that I'm okay with mediocrity just for the hell of it. I can't forget what it felt like to believe in the very best version of myself...to be bound for better things than these in every arena. I've always been afraid to commit to anyone or anything, because I'm always holding out for something better. That was a mistake, apparently...but most of my life has moved on without me since I realized it. All around me, the people I know are becoming adults, and it disgusts me...even though it's happening to me, too, regardless of all my kicking and screaming. I have stubbornly refused to find myself, and resisted every attempt the world has made at classification, because I know wherever I end up, I'll be disappointed. Maybe I'd rather be nothing than be trapped in an identity that doesn't fulfill me. But now I'm facing the consequences of nothingness.
Once again, life has got me good and angry. LA has gotten on my bad side on too many times...this town has put me in a really pissed off mood. Still, I'm not leaving. I know that if I left, I'd find a certain part of myself that's missing, that little piece I was reunited with in San Francisco. But I'd also lose a lot of time that I can't afford. What's right for me and what's best for my life are two very different animals, but for now, I'll stick with the old standby. I won't stay here forever, but I will stay long enough to feel I made a concerted effort. In the meantime, I've engaged in some questionable behavior just to feel younger and dumber. It's nice while it lasts, though I'm careful not to let it get out of hand. Going out of control too quickly can be dangerous...speed kills, if you know what I mean. That's at least one thing I'll never do, but the rest is up for grabs, I guess. I don't have nearly as much pride or self-respect as I used to, and just like a few years ago, I can't be bothered to care much about the results anymore. I'm an adult now, and it's given birth to a spoiled, angry baby who takes over when daddy's off-duty. I may recover someday, but for the time being, I'm a soulless machine. This world has done its share of awful things to me, though the worst was letting me think that it would let up someday. It'd be naive to assume that I've been through it all, but it already feels like I've been through enough for a lifetime. What else is there? Oh, it'll show me. I thought maybe I was being taken out of the fold...I thought they'd finally decided to kill me. Slowly, painfully...and with the one weapon I'm most afraid of. More than anything else, I fear death by cliche.
But I'm still here..and, it seems. most likely will be for awhile longer. I remember what I told myself when this year began. That this is a time for suffering. That, if I don't put some time in, I can't expect any reward. So I'm putting my time in...reluctantly, but by my own volition. I'm playing the same game everyone else my age is playing. Some will give up...some will move away...some will die before they get there. The rest will be up there on the big screen. I didn't expect this struggle; I didn't anticipate this much competition. It's tempting to get out now and live a more fulfilling life, one that at least feels like something of my choosing. I will, if things stay the way they are much longer. Today is my birthday, and I hate being reminded that another year of youth has passed and I wasn't able to enjoy it. I've got a few more levels to clear before reach anything that even approaches satisfaction. The wicked don't rest, and that's how I have for awhile. I'm a survivor even in the harshest environments. If I have to turn my back on people I love...if I leave to leave behind the sick and dying...that's what I'll do. I'd like to fight a better fight and win a better war, but I've got my hands full on this perfunctory battlefield. I'm capable of more. I didn't have to be just another soldier. But here, I'm expendable just like the rest of 'em. To handle that, I have put the good boy on the shelf for awhile. Maybe for good. I'll drag myself out there day and night; both work and play have a similar hollowness. This isn't the real me, but apparently, it's who I am.
The thing I still don't quite get is, all my life, pretty much everyone who got to know me told me I was special. And then, right after graduation, everyone decided to line up and tell me how special I'm not. In one fell swoop, the entire world just changed its mind about me. I'm still not over it. I may never be. When I was young, I made plans. I was depending on people to follow through with what they said they were going to. One way or another, pretty much everyone I know has disappointed me, though I'm the one I'm most ashamed of. I lived my whole life determined not to give up on myself, determined to reach my goals, no matter how farfetched they were. I clung to them long after everyone else gave up, and even when, one by one, people started trying to discourage me. Everyone else knew where I was really headed long before I did...to a good place, but not a great one. I truly believed that, through fighting hard enough, you could achieve anything. That might even be true, if you're not the only one fighting. Everyone thinks I'm naive for believing that I shouldn't have to adhere to these pointless perfucnctions of the real world. I think they're naive for not banding with me so that we don't have to. I still believe that we can do better...I just don't think we will.
For that reason, and many others, I could probably give up right now. I don't care much about what's actually going to happen to me, though it'd be nice if it was somewhat good. I don't have any real goals, and I don't believe that what I achieve is going to make me happy. There's a giant void within me, left by all those departed dreams. I don't know what can ever fill it. I don't know what to look for. I don't know what to want. Maybe I'll never accept that I'm so much less than I thought I'd be. Maybe I'm too damaged to ever recover. Maybe I'll always struggle and die miserably. But 'til then, I'll be here. Stuck forever, maybe, but not stopping. The sun will continue rise and fall above me, and maybe never bring that day I was so looking forward to. But recently, I had to face the possibility that I was dying...and it scared me. The pain, the shame...those were frightening...but what really terrified me was the way it would kill any chance of tomorrow. I was scared I'd never see it...that when the sun set on this chapter of my life, it would set on me. That means something...that somehow, in spite of everything, there's still a small part of me looking toward the the future and hoping.
Once again, I made it out alive. My days aren't yet numbered.
So, if it decides to come around...I will live to see tomorrow.
"Regardless of your response, Chris... I love you. A part of me never stopped loving you. Another part of me feels its just been woken up from a very long sleep, and you're the prince whose kiss allowed that. What I'm trying to say is... if we can't be together after this... just know that in some place that never quite existed... and in some time that never came to be... you and I had something that was beautiful, and amazing, and inspiring... the kind of love that you find in movies and dreams... and I'll hold on to that possibility with pride 'til the day I die."
13 8 6 26 20
TOMORROW.
_______________________________________________________________
It'll all click when the mortgage clears,
All our fears will disappear.
Now you go to bed, I'm staying here
I've got another level that I want to clear.
My skin feels like orange peel
My eyes have been vacuum-sealed
My organs move like a squirm of eels
We should be more adventurous with our meals.
They annoy me,
Those who employ me,
They could destroy me,
They should enjoy me.
We eat Chinese off our knees
And look for each other in the TV screen...
The sun goes up
And the sun goes down.
I drag myself into the town.
All I do
I want to do with you...
Every day
I'm at my desk.
At my desk, I'm like the rest.
All I do
I want to do with you.
On the city's skin they move en masse
Like a rash on the back of a manky cat
Now in I go, like a fool
I can't resist dipping in the pool
I watch them watch me I watch them too
Across the street, across the room
I dress myself like a charcoal sketch
My eyes are green and my hair's a mess
They annoy me
Those who employ me
They could destroy me
They should enjoy me
We eat Chinese off our knees
And look for each other in the TV screen...
The sun goes up
And the sun goes down.
I drag myself into the town.
All I do
I want to do with you...
Every day
I'm at my desk.
At my desk, I'm like the rest.
All I do
I want to do with you.
The cells I am at the moment will soon die...
But I will be here.
Oh, I'll still be here.
The cells I am at the moment will soon die...
But I will be here.
Oh, I'll still be here.
Every day, every day, every day...
Every day, every day, every day...
Every day, every day, every day...
Every day, every day, every day...
Every day, every day, every day...
Every day, every day, every day...
Every day, every day, every day...
Every day, every day, every day...
Every day, every day, every day...