64: I Should Go to Sleep or Something
I think my house is too cool- my hands (well, my right hand) has gone numb which i guess is better than teh full body shakes I had going on before, which generally mean a panic attack of some sorts is coming. Although, it came while I was talking to NickAlsionDanKevinRosebudNickAlisonDanKevin as they played "Pass the cell phone around and drink Slurpees while Courtney is in Mahwah".
Hopefully this works. World this is Dan, aka Kevin's little brother, with red hair, subtitled Sargeant Pepper
If not, I'll send you the picture because it's awesome.
Excerpts from Aesthetic Journal:
the twelfth of letters not expected to be answered
February 2005
It’s not that I don’t love my family because if anything I think I love them more than I should. It’s just sometimes I think about lighting myself on fire and thought is appealing. I know I won’t because I don’t have the guts and because I know it’s stupid to kill yourself but I guess I can sympathize with someone who would.
I’m just, I’m sick of not being seen. It’s not that I’m being taken for granted although I probably am, it’s I just don’t like going home. And that can’t be right. You’re supposed to like home not cry when you think about where you are. And it’s like there’s no point to me being in this place because I don’t fail and I can’t not care enough to fail because college is the only way I’m getting out of here. And even if I could fail, all I would get would be their assurance that I would take care of it because I stepped into the faithful role, the dependable role. Mary Magdalene. And I just- I wish that well I could stop crying, there’s that, but that I didn’t feel as if everything was fleeting. I want to have faith so bad and I do, on some part just not here.
And I can’t even speak it because, like Mom said, it’s not fair and not true. And yes she said that when I was seven and she read my journal and yelled at me because I wrote that I felt like nothing when compared to Blair and Tristan but I don’t cut myself and I can’t fail school and I’m dependable and I do the dishes and clean and let them cry on me and let them fight through me and tell me why everything about the other is wrong.
Everyone can talk about college being different but I just I feel see through all the time, or most of the time and my ups and my downs are so close to each other and both hurt. And I, like the hypocrite, seeking company shun company. And I keep feeling like I’m going to have a panic attack. Just everything would easier I think sometimes if I didn’t go home. Like tonight- I knew there is no point in being home for the next two weeks because it’s going to be all fights for Blair. And I don’t begrudge the fact that Blair doesn’t do the work but I wish just once someone would fight for me. Because custody battles come down to Blair and Tristan and how much money we’re worth (five hundred dollars, a month). Mom had me read Dad’s I guess formal appeal for custody a couple of months ago, I think in the summer and I don’t even know why I guess maybe she wanted to show me what she lost to but it was eight pages on Blair and why she should stay in Metuchen and why Dad was right for her, and why Mom was wrong about everything relating to Blair and then tacked on was ‘Courtney likes Metuchen too and has a lot of activities so she should stay.” And everyone made it blatant that custody of me was not disputed, it was who got Blair and what was best for her. I was the after thought and sometimes I get tired of being postscript.
And I apologize for entry with no artistic merit other than me bitching so if you want your time back, I… I don’t know what I’ll do but I could try to repay it. My time is worth much though so I don’t know what the exchange rate would be. My dollar to everyone’s Euro or pound sterling. I’m a Nazi Mark, and East German coin, a wooden nickel, a Confederate dollar.
“When it is dark enough you can see the stars” Ralph Waldo Emerson
(Fuck you Emerson and fuck your transparent eyeball. You weren’t that great of a writer anyway.)
the thirteenth of letters not expected to be answered
February 2005
Dream:
I worked at a ticket counter in an airport. A big black man comes up to me and says that he’ll pay some huge sum of money if I take a letter and hide it, go to someplace far away and don’t come back until he says. He (midway through the speech) becomes a scared young couple, African American man and woman. Then I am standing with him and back in my old body, watching myself work and working, making a fake ID and hundreds of letters to hide the other letter in. As I work I’m getting older, and adjusting to the fashions of the time as people come and go. When I’m done, the young me (now Me) leaves and heads for a plane.
I ask a woman if this is the plane going to Chicago and she says yes but I have to look for the plane leaving New Jersey because in this airport (I know) people are going many places, and leaving from different places. I find an old Indian man who works a ticket counter to help me find the plane but realize I left my book bag. I convince him to stay and wait for me (even though the plane to Chicago is leaving soon) and run back and get it. I grab it, (having left my box of letters with some woman) run back, and stop her from looking into the box of letters, although she’s horrified because she starts to read the note the first man gave to me, saying that if I didn’t leave or if I came back early, he would kill the young couple.
I’m going to California and looking for Nick because he knows the airport, having used it before when he went to Germany and find him. Nick agrees to help me but he always remains slightly ahead of me. We find an elevator and get in- there are two mimes in there, male, white. They look at us, start waving their hands without any really meaning and burst into laughter and start talking. Both have English accents and the one closer to the door and farther than us (we’re leaning on a back wall) has a lazy left eye. The elevator is huge, like the size of a small room and the door keeps opening as we go to lower floors. I’m now going to Germany, and while talking to the mimes and Nick, also having a conversation with my uncle, who’s a doctor, about medicine prices in Germany and how crates of Advil are under ten dollars.
Nick and I get off the elevator and he runs ahead through these huge aisles of medicine and medical products, like the ones you see at the food store only taller and longer but I go slowly, like I’m lying on the ground, trying to run upwards and there’s something sitting on my chest. I stop, looking at 69-cent bottles of aspirin and debate buying them for Stu (my uncle) but Nick runs up. I run back to the elevator because I’ve forgotten my bag again but the mimes placed it outside the doors for me and then we turn and run the right way again, towards something marked 2B.
Woke up or don’t remember anymore.
I was watching the Boondock Saints but then I stopped it because it was starting to look dire and I've invested much too much in the characters to see them die. Rooco, sure, bite the dust but Murphy and Connor? Much too good looking and mission from God-y to die.
My mom still isn't home from the "Date that Isn't a Date" with the Asshole formerly refered to as John, or the man who pissed off every member of my extened family on my mom's side that attended Easter.
Stuff happened this week. I didn't do any homework. My sister failed two classes and I get to pick up. You know, the usual. I'm trying to get my mom into bright Eyes because there must be something I listen to that won't garner that tone of disgust/disapointment.
Hopefully this works. World this is Dan, aka Kevin's little brother, with red hair, subtitled Sargeant Pepper
If not, I'll send you the picture because it's awesome.
Excerpts from Aesthetic Journal:
the twelfth of letters not expected to be answered
February 2005
It’s not that I don’t love my family because if anything I think I love them more than I should. It’s just sometimes I think about lighting myself on fire and thought is appealing. I know I won’t because I don’t have the guts and because I know it’s stupid to kill yourself but I guess I can sympathize with someone who would.
I’m just, I’m sick of not being seen. It’s not that I’m being taken for granted although I probably am, it’s I just don’t like going home. And that can’t be right. You’re supposed to like home not cry when you think about where you are. And it’s like there’s no point to me being in this place because I don’t fail and I can’t not care enough to fail because college is the only way I’m getting out of here. And even if I could fail, all I would get would be their assurance that I would take care of it because I stepped into the faithful role, the dependable role. Mary Magdalene. And I just- I wish that well I could stop crying, there’s that, but that I didn’t feel as if everything was fleeting. I want to have faith so bad and I do, on some part just not here.
And I can’t even speak it because, like Mom said, it’s not fair and not true. And yes she said that when I was seven and she read my journal and yelled at me because I wrote that I felt like nothing when compared to Blair and Tristan but I don’t cut myself and I can’t fail school and I’m dependable and I do the dishes and clean and let them cry on me and let them fight through me and tell me why everything about the other is wrong.
Everyone can talk about college being different but I just I feel see through all the time, or most of the time and my ups and my downs are so close to each other and both hurt. And I, like the hypocrite, seeking company shun company. And I keep feeling like I’m going to have a panic attack. Just everything would easier I think sometimes if I didn’t go home. Like tonight- I knew there is no point in being home for the next two weeks because it’s going to be all fights for Blair. And I don’t begrudge the fact that Blair doesn’t do the work but I wish just once someone would fight for me. Because custody battles come down to Blair and Tristan and how much money we’re worth (five hundred dollars, a month). Mom had me read Dad’s I guess formal appeal for custody a couple of months ago, I think in the summer and I don’t even know why I guess maybe she wanted to show me what she lost to but it was eight pages on Blair and why she should stay in Metuchen and why Dad was right for her, and why Mom was wrong about everything relating to Blair and then tacked on was ‘Courtney likes Metuchen too and has a lot of activities so she should stay.” And everyone made it blatant that custody of me was not disputed, it was who got Blair and what was best for her. I was the after thought and sometimes I get tired of being postscript.
And I apologize for entry with no artistic merit other than me bitching so if you want your time back, I… I don’t know what I’ll do but I could try to repay it. My time is worth much though so I don’t know what the exchange rate would be. My dollar to everyone’s Euro or pound sterling. I’m a Nazi Mark, and East German coin, a wooden nickel, a Confederate dollar.
“When it is dark enough you can see the stars” Ralph Waldo Emerson
(Fuck you Emerson and fuck your transparent eyeball. You weren’t that great of a writer anyway.)
the thirteenth of letters not expected to be answered
February 2005
Dream:
I worked at a ticket counter in an airport. A big black man comes up to me and says that he’ll pay some huge sum of money if I take a letter and hide it, go to someplace far away and don’t come back until he says. He (midway through the speech) becomes a scared young couple, African American man and woman. Then I am standing with him and back in my old body, watching myself work and working, making a fake ID and hundreds of letters to hide the other letter in. As I work I’m getting older, and adjusting to the fashions of the time as people come and go. When I’m done, the young me (now Me) leaves and heads for a plane.
I ask a woman if this is the plane going to Chicago and she says yes but I have to look for the plane leaving New Jersey because in this airport (I know) people are going many places, and leaving from different places. I find an old Indian man who works a ticket counter to help me find the plane but realize I left my book bag. I convince him to stay and wait for me (even though the plane to Chicago is leaving soon) and run back and get it. I grab it, (having left my box of letters with some woman) run back, and stop her from looking into the box of letters, although she’s horrified because she starts to read the note the first man gave to me, saying that if I didn’t leave or if I came back early, he would kill the young couple.
I’m going to California and looking for Nick because he knows the airport, having used it before when he went to Germany and find him. Nick agrees to help me but he always remains slightly ahead of me. We find an elevator and get in- there are two mimes in there, male, white. They look at us, start waving their hands without any really meaning and burst into laughter and start talking. Both have English accents and the one closer to the door and farther than us (we’re leaning on a back wall) has a lazy left eye. The elevator is huge, like the size of a small room and the door keeps opening as we go to lower floors. I’m now going to Germany, and while talking to the mimes and Nick, also having a conversation with my uncle, who’s a doctor, about medicine prices in Germany and how crates of Advil are under ten dollars.
Nick and I get off the elevator and he runs ahead through these huge aisles of medicine and medical products, like the ones you see at the food store only taller and longer but I go slowly, like I’m lying on the ground, trying to run upwards and there’s something sitting on my chest. I stop, looking at 69-cent bottles of aspirin and debate buying them for Stu (my uncle) but Nick runs up. I run back to the elevator because I’ve forgotten my bag again but the mimes placed it outside the doors for me and then we turn and run the right way again, towards something marked 2B.
Woke up or don’t remember anymore.
I was watching the Boondock Saints but then I stopped it because it was starting to look dire and I've invested much too much in the characters to see them die. Rooco, sure, bite the dust but Murphy and Connor? Much too good looking and mission from God-y to die.
My mom still isn't home from the "Date that Isn't a Date" with the Asshole formerly refered to as John, or the man who pissed off every member of my extened family on my mom's side that attended Easter.
Stuff happened this week. I didn't do any homework. My sister failed two classes and I get to pick up. You know, the usual. I'm trying to get my mom into bright Eyes because there must be something I listen to that won't garner that tone of disgust/disapointment.