and so i fantasize: that the nights will get shorter and the days will get better

[obscured]

i had never called the police before last night. see, isla vista has a pretty visible homeless population, of whom we're all fairly protective. i bring pirate food, have long talks with him about his ladyfriend, listen to him play the harmonica, for example. but, some people cross the line. like this drunk fool last night. who was leering in our kitchen window and making a scene in our front yard when we tried to get him to leave. who later came back when we were outside having cigarettes, we asked him to leave and he tore out his own hair, and ran in place with his arms outstretched to try to get our attention, and then threatened to pull a gun on us, threatened us with knives. i went inside and dialed 911 like i've always seen people do in lives that weren't mine, and i started shaking really hard, and it wasn't because it was below freezing outside (thirty-one degrees), and so i stayed on the phone with the dispatcher and i just wanted my room mates and me and my house and the drunk homeless crazy to all be okay, to have it not have happened. in the kitchen my body was shaking like it had its own shifting plates, and it didn't stop, and not until i got to my bed and locked all of the doors behind me did it stop.

-

that's more interesting that hearing me cry about my perceived/projected lack of a future, feeling that no matter how intelligent, capable, talented i am, i'm still basically screwed. and, i know, there are no guarantees on anything. but i'm tired of being an artist just because we're all afraid of dying uncommemorated. i guess that makes me the rememberer.

way more interesting than not wanting to get out of bed all day, way more than the wondering. yep, that's something concrete.