stoli, needles

8:23pm. why am i so totally obsessed with you? Not like that or anything. But seriously, you stay really active in my imagination. It kinda makes me feel crazy. Maybe i just need to write a novel about you. I dunno j.

8:38pm. im sitting in a dyke bar by myself. i dream about cola every night, im still there. strange.

8:51pm. lets trade. U can become selfobsessed and i can love living in cola. Wait, thats the way it is. Syke. I dont love cola. Just kidding. im reading stevenson for class and drinkin alone listnin to jay reatard and thinking about u every 15 mintues. Is this normal 4 u to always b on my mind and stuff. What am i willie nelson? Have fun at the bar.

10:02pm. the bar sukt im going home wiht stoli, otherwise alone.

11:16pm. stoli and strawberry. my hair is stringy in the window reflection. i invent intimacy in my dreams, my dreams are the closest i come to not being alone. you are that summer feeling.

11:49pm. he opened w a version of that in charlotte id never heard b4. Ur message made me cry 4 a minute. I guess im kinda drunk. I wish we could all live in some lush fantasy with a real god and real love and no more offices. down down. Gonna die for my fantasies.

12:12am. xanax abuse just put needle pricks in my arm to make blood. saw two men in the alley smoking something that made them feel goood they looked happy, maybe they are.

7:07am. maybe they were happy. Smoking cocaine makes me sad. Wasted money on a ball and a half last week. Xanax is better-cheaper and it wont kill u as easily. Fuck drugs and they withdraw and shoot cum at you. Do u know that baraka poem that starts with the same line, just sub poems for for drugs. When u tell me about cutting yourself it makes me wanna hold u and tell u lies like itll be ok. Its never gonna b ok and this is one reason i suck at love in any form. My parents made me wanna b jesus but i ended up like a poorly written kafkan christ-invert character. Then i remember early death and hospitals and death without money for hospitals-the murkiest corners of faulkner and mccarthy and df wallace and i prematurely shroud the hunger artist's display cage. This is one way i alays fail at life and loves. And im probably wrong about it. Wrap your wounds in whatever cloth-its all made in sweatshops in miller's china.

9:48am. my stomach hurts. my body hurts. i want to live in a place without body parts.

my crime against community

it is a word like love
or an idea like love
or a word like idea
i'm not sure
i go with jc to the lesbian bar
spend some more money on vodka and i go home by myself.

i will work on the interview and go home at eight or nine and ignore
neil young says love is the question, love is the answer
i question his circular logic
it is that i work where others buy houses and make families
it is that i picked truth over beauty and that i believe in
neither of these things.

bravery

i know that i am stressed out because i am having dreams about catching planes and losing keys and abusive relationships and trying to mask morbid ideas. i only have one reader, and he might not even be a reader, and this blog could already be corrupt. i am trying to learn how to be brave.

i sent a pitch to an editor out of my league yesterday and am anxious like most people get about dates. i hate the sick flourescent noise of the place i work. i hate that i am too poor and busy for comfort and that comfort would destroy what i want to do. i hate that i am not sure whether that is true or i am just saying that so that i can justify being a fuckup.

the night that i broke up with andy, i was sitting outside and some woman i barely knew had a Big Talk with me about my drinking and self-worth. she had been a prostitute and drug addict but now she was a sitting-pretty queen sort of woman with long juliette hair and a big round body. i think that i am always thirsty in a chronic kind of way. i keep waking up in the middle of the night to examine my flaws. i didn't know how to explain to the woman that i am co-dependent on alcohol at this point because the wild and toxic next-day feeling is the way that i am brave and it is how i tear open the voice and that it is impossible to access or if not, hard enough that i do not know how else to look, it is like asking someone to kayak sober off of a waterfall. i don't know whether i will be able to do this but have bet or spent everything. maybe i will be able to do this but i am not sure.

 

borderline

i hyperventilated and pleasure shot through me like caffeine
we watched a movie and held each other A kissed me took me home i am still cold with panic i am in my room alone with nick drake and my hunger.