New Hampshire

Thirty seven days in a row and she wakes up feeling like the disgusting person she is. Her children at school and the afternoon is spent with rum and various phone calls to slightly less disgusting people. There you are with a camera and a microphone outside the window to watch it all go down. Spy on whores and weak people like this. Watch them and how they interact with each other. It’s really enough to make you never feel surprised about anything people do. I can’t ever judge these weak, dumb people. I’m one of them too, I don’t have anything to offer. A few jokes here and there. In the afternoons I go down to the bar and complain into whoever wants to listen. I was just lazy enough for enough years to get by like this. I can make pretend hundreds of emotions and ideas and opinions. I can make pretend I live here or there or anywhere really. I always keep the front door, the back door and of course all the windows closed. I can make pretend I have all sorts of things in common with them. I can lie to strangers in the bar, that’s my number one thing I can do. Great.

He is an old guy I can’t relate to at all. His life spent complaining about others and anyone else that never does anything that directly causes any adversity in his life. I’ve never not known him as this person. I wonder if as a child he was ever happy. The nonstop commentary and bitching about everything even slightly negative. Spending long amounts of time around people like this always does something to me deep down, like someone screaming as loud as possible while handcuffed to my ears for all eternity.

Every night for the last however many years sleeping an hour here an hour there. Wondering when I’ll snap out of this weakness. I was never one of these fools. I sit around and have to listen and read the words of morally offensive people trying to give me advice. Trying to take advice from anyone at this point, well I feel stupid. I never ask for help but I do like to talk. The sound of silence though, sometimes it works so much better. Some nights I can just sit there and not look at anything. Not say anything. Not feel anything. Not hear anything. All of it is noise and crap to make me think too much for that late at night. Every night for the last 800 days I’ve gone to bed like that, it’s time to just not do that and shut up and be quiet. I think it works better in the end. Regardless, I’ve hated going to bed the last month or so. It’s been different and too quiet. Sometimes I feel like the shittiest person in the world. Other times I feel like I am right on point, like I can never be a mean person at all.

When you see them wide eyed and ready to take on whatever ends up coming to them it’s sad. These empty conversations about nothing of any interest really. How fucked up so and so got last weekend. A couple of racist jokes here and there and melted into a couch like spilled ice cubes from a strong mixed drink barely touched. The life, yeah it’s great with nothing to worry about. With what amounts to an inexperienced head filled with really bad ideas and even worse opinions.

So there’s a clown in the woods with cuts all over his face that runs around in peoples backyards laughing and making all sorts of creepy noises. He usually will come out when he hears you pulling in to the driveway or parking space. He has these little cuts all over his face from running through the woods, and his white make up is faded and sweaty. He won’t let you see him for too long, but if you look into the trees when you get home at night, he’s there. Cuts on his face and all. I just walk by him and try not to make eye contact with him at all. He’ll leave you alone if you don’t pay him any mind. When you get home at night there is a clown in the woods with cuts on his face watching you secretly.

I have a document, exactly 26,000 words as of yesterday about the good and the bad of the “last year”. Somedays I feel like shit and want to escape from myself. I can’t swallow enough things to do that though. I can’t drink or smoke anything to make things disappear. It is there at all times in the forefront of my head. There aren’t enough places for me to hide that I won’t just sob myself into infinity over this. I could become angry and mean or depressed and quiet. I don’t want any of this though. Whatever I thought existed in the good parts was good and amazing and will be there forever. Every single second of shit though, I need to destroy it with fire and sleep. I am in such a non-mood right now that I can’t even make sense of anything regarding this.I wonder from hour to hour from minute to minute how I get back to where I was in say...1999. I have no idea who that guy was or how he did anything. I have no idea about anything now. A trillion people could say “everything will be alright”, it does nothing. I appreciate the sentiment and the effort. I don’t appreciate how my head reacts to things now. I act out and am a very angry rotten shitty person. Peripheral friends who come and go like the seasons trying to talk to me about “how it is”. Give me a fucking break. Nothing is worse than an amateur architect trying to teach anything let alone the inner workings of strangers.