Fo(u)r More of It

Went to sleep a while back but then as I often do, woke up and felt like I needed to type this.

Like a loser, hit a bar by myself to watch a friend from way back play some music. Band was pretty good, not what I was expecting. Going to the bar though, it’s hard as fuck now. I can’t imagine ever going to one without something else attached like food or music. My social anxiety was at an all time high as I kind of hid in the back and eventually snuck out for a late dinner by myself. I feel like I am living the same exact life I was living in California.

This time of night I hear voices that tell me, well, they keep hitting me and waking me up. I get here and had some things to say and now realize I can’t say them.

Past 5:00 AM and they still have no clue. Why do I come here? Give people information they don’t need to know? I look and see who looked at me and wonder why anyone would ever, and then realize why. The conspiracy.

The Pussy Whisperer

I hear this high pitch outside, and then it turns into a lower pitch like there are two of “them”. I hear it loud and clear like this guttural scream, calling me late at night. Everywhere around this house is foggy and lonely out there. You don’t know and can’t see anything. I could stay in here with all the lights on until dawn. I know what is happening out there though. I hear their noise and see their shadows rising up to the top of the trees. I see it all and always will, they will just keep following me forever. One of these nights I will be the one who steps out of the shadows. One of these nights I will take this knife and plunge it deep. I don’t want them out there anymore. With the lights on though, I can let them see everything I do.

This existence here and there is tired and ready to explode any second. Motherfuckers, every last fucking one of them.



7/31/00
I just got in from a day of pinball and coffee. I love the old video games and the pinball machines. I sneak around there and spend a quarter here, spend a quarter there. I don't win no gifts for girls. I ain't carryin' around no stinking big stuffed animals. I'm playing, it's just me. Ice cream soda and little kids yellin' and screamin'. This television is spitting out all sorts of things that hurt to look at. The volume is down, but looking over at it from time to time hurts the brain a little. I haven't been down the road in a long time. I haven't taken this route in so long. I like this route here. I like how this winds around and get's me to where I think I need to be. It's worlds better than that fucking train to nowhere. It's way fucking better than the bus. Dances and hugs and pats on the back are never going to fulfill me for as long as I stay on this route. Poetry is not needed anymore. Poetry and flowers and jackets across puddles. Karaoke on Friday night get's canceled for a random trip to the moon. Dinner and a movie ain't helping anyone on this route. John Holmes and Mike Simondiski driving a techno colored station wagon to the ocean for conversation about ecstacy and Mick Jagger lips. Rug burn from sitting on the floor statuesque for far too long through scary movies and rock videos. Park the car by the side of the road, park it across the street so no one sees us. They all start rumors, they all fill themselves with lies about the moon and lies about the way my car runs. The motor runs great, it needs a tune up, it needs to take different drives, silently through beaches and neon lit strips of Elvis Presley videos. Like a man not even with himself anymore. Like a ninja. Like someone in the deep blue sea swimming. I don't know, sort of like if you took one part reality and one part whatever you need to think you would sort of feel this like this.

Sabbra Cadabbra

dream I had one night about eight years ago:

For some reason I like the low energy feeling a xxxxx xxxxxxxxxx feels each day. this is the best way to get yourself dug into the deepest hole you can get yourself dug into. this is the best way to just avoid having to deal with the voices that invade me every night around 2AM. if I could fall asleep before they start talking to me it would be great. having mere music on when you go to sleep is not only soothing, but it blocks out these voices more than anything. I try and keep myself awake until I can’t keep my eyes open anymore. I try to fall asleep standing up each night. I try to get myself back into shape, and it doesn’t work. I’m scarred for life with memories I guess. disgusting fucked up memories that nobody would even want to see in a movie. disgusting haunting images of people and events that have no value except to haunt me. why does this happen to me? I can’t sleep at night for fear I may dream about shitty memories and images. I can’t sleep at night because it’s fucking boring. I drift and drift but I try to pull myself away, as sleeping is going to hinder my following day. sleep is not going to help me out. sleep is not going to do anything for me that I notice. I like feeling like shit every day. I enjoy feeling like I’m going to nod off at 2pm. I like the fact that everyone else is safely in bed, and me and the few others around the world are plotting. I don’t like that I have to explain things to anyone. I will never feel comfortable with that. I won’t ever rely on lies to explain myself like everyone I know seems to do. I won’t make things up like “I care” or “I’ll call you later”. I know you’re not going to call, don’t tell me you are. I don’t need closure. I don’t ever need closure. I have lot’s of open books. I have books I started 5 years ago that I just sort of lost interest in. I have closure issues with people at the end of the night. I can’t stand to have to shake hands and hug and exchange promises of phone calls and e-mails. just go on your way, I’ll go on mine, perhaps we’ll meet again someday on the avenue. (don’t touch that dial!). I wonder what goes through the heads of others around me sometimes. I try as hard as possible to never let anyone know what I’m thinking. I try to not try at all to not let anyone know what I’m thinking at any time. when I want to, I read the introduction to a small class, but most days I want to let people do their own studying. not that there are any people out there that really, really care. I just don’t feel up to anything right now in line with normal everyday actions. I’m trying to talk to more people when I go out. not try to meet them and hang out with them, but talking more to others helps things out. sitting here spouting that I don’t care what people think, and how I hate everyone is stupid in general. I don’t hate anyone, especially people I don’t know. I do have some sort of maturity as far as I know. I just don’t ever meet the right people. I can’t imagine meeting people at a gig, or a bar hanging out. it’s loud, you can’t talk, and it’s a general rule that if you’re talking to a stranger at a bar or club, you most likely have a rock hard cock in your pants, or a soaking wet pussy in your pants. I’m not going to start discussing why I think Hour of the Wolf by Bergman is a scarier movie than anything you and your sweater has ever watched. I’m going to discuss how fucking big my dick is, I’m going to discuss how I am sensitive to the rights of animals, and how I have a sister who I am very close with, or that my cock once fucked some chick for 7 ½ hours straight. that’s not the conversation I want to have, nor do I ever want to have. I want to just talk about something. did you know that you can get an okay mandolin for about 200 bucks? do you even know what the fuck a mandolin is? speaking of mandolins...

Otherwise though, things are going pretty good out here. The weather has been pretty good this week for the most part. I haven't really been upset about a single thing in weeks. I feel this renewed energy I haven't felt in a long time. Looking forward to this trip back to Boston next week for a week, and then the drive across country the week after that. I love road trips and the fun times they bring to your soul. If I didn't have this whole thing planned out I would probably
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I Am Not the Owl
Pt 1 of 6:

When I finally would get around to falling asleep I would see them. A lot of times I would fall asleep on the roof with my head slumped over like a boring husband in front of a TV set. Dreams would show up of the conspiracy and everything I suspected happening. When I would awake in the morning I would reset the machine I carried with me and check it over before finishing the day out. Somedays the machine would have information inside of it that was useless to me but I would look it over anyway. I still have this machine and it works like a charm. Sometimes it does things it is not supposed to do.

My friends all said I was crazy, paranoid. I had too much time on my hands so of course I would invent these stories. I saw these “stories” being written in front of my eyes though! The machine I carried with me everywhere I went, it proved all of this. I could never show anyone this machine though. It was mine and nobody would know how to even read it or tell what the information I was looking at a meant. I had enough information collected now that I could present it to everyone but again, like last time, I didn’t want to look crazy so I held on to it. I always hold on. This kind of information. I will write it down on paper. I will type it out. I will think it out in my head. I will sit there and not move on a chair for hours and meditate on this information. Why I collect it to drive myself insane I have no idea but I do and will continue to do so until I confront them.

We had a party. Man, everyone was there that night. People I knew from high school, college, old jobs around town, ex-girlfriends, members of circles of friends long since broken apart family, everyone. I set up the machine to “peripheral” so I could keep my eyes open and make sure there was nothing suspicious happening. By the end of the night I had a splitting headache from trying to watch them all. Even with the machine running it was impossible to do it all. I decided to turn it off and try to just use the most basic method, my eyes. I even had a routine I set up. I would read lips on certain people if they were closer than ten inches from each other when talking. I would keep a mental note of who was talking to who so I could eventually put the pieces together. I had a piece of paper with all of their names on it and arrows connecting them. I could see who was talking to who and try and figure out why they were talking to that person. Some of these relationships didn’t add up to me. Some of these things I lip read people talking about didn’t make sense. At one point someone would tell me one thing and then I would later find out from my map that it was a lie. The conspiracy was getting a little heavier it seemed.

I set myself up in my car and sat there one night for over six hours. I followed them for a few hours and then sat back in the car for six hours with binoculars, a scalpel and a head full of ideas I knew would have to make sense at some point. My car would start quiet like a Belle and Sebastian a few minutes before the sun turned the sky from black to grey. She was there, he was there. I knew what was up here for the most part. The machine and everything it recorded all made sense. It was raining that night so as clear as it all was, things were kind of blurry as well.