Waking to an empty house and the sound of rain falling hard coming from all directions at 9 AM is sad sappy whatever when that empty house is the home of your parents and when its emptiness is only temporary. Cooking eggs without fear of communication or of being seen cooking eggs and the generally lonely, peaceful feelings associated with taking care of myself and making effort to create a life simple and mostly painless are experiences I have hardly known in my life. I suppose it is relevant to mention I have never actively participated in the improvement of the lives of the people with whom I live. It might also be relevant to mention that it has always been hard to remain hopeful about anything.
The boundaries within which I regularly travel to visit persons are moving slowly westward and the maps of the space between home and elsewhere are being slowly filled with indicators of places I know well. Still, I took a shit today while looking at the same walls I've always looked at while taking a shit and no distance traveled between one shit and the next is enough to make that fact not one to make one sick.
Evasion of policia in some imagined unincorporated part of Orange County. Hiding out in the house of a friend who actually lives in Saint Cloud. Urinating on a keyboard, zipping up just as his mother approaches the doorway to the room in which I stood. Sneaking past the white SUV I abandoned in evasion and the policia and their K9 surrounding it for 2 for $2 egg mcmuffins at McDonald's. Arriving at the restaurant and approaching the register only to realize that it is 4 PM and that they are no longer serving breakfast. Hopping over to a gas station to purchase tobacco papers and a Sparks; being asked for an ID, telling the cat I do not have it with me, being sold ID required items regardless. Walking along an overpass and crossing paths with a buff euro-fashioned faggot who strikes up a conversation when I stop to light a cigarette. He offers cocaine but I decline and ask whether he might know where to purchase heroin. "The original Coca Cola, non?" he replies while pulling from the back of his waistband a rolled up sandwich bag containing a large amount of junk. I give him every dollar in my wallet and he fills a dime sized zip lock bag half-way. I try to give him my number or to get his but he declines and walks off despite my obvious desperation. Walk back to the house while pulling bumps from the bag with a pen cap. Back at the house, greeted by females of interest whom I believe I know from somewhere but who assure me I do not. Fix, fix, fix in more ways than one.
I cannot bear existence which requires that yesterday exists in memory today and today is never not a drag and there is nothing happening next - i.e., existence without junk or alprazolam or love or hope. But
maybe I'm not entirely without hope at this point. Maybe though Tony has moved on and there is no hint of junk in my eyes today I can imagine a future still in which morning rituals involve syringes and I have a reason to keep a well made tie in the car at all times. I have no need to worry about the absence of alprazolam, as it will surely fall into my hands soon enough like it always seems to. As for love: I'm patient. After seventeen years of never knowing love, I can bear the brunt of a few hundred nights filled with dreams of it alongside a few hundred mornings of waking up without it as long as the occasional opportunity to know a taste of it or something like it comes along to heal my bitterness and break down my walls of unsociability.
I guess. I don't know. Suffering is still a key element of whatever but
I didn't know you had ever taken any photographs with your Holga to know anything of the colors it tends to capture. I would love to see any you have to share.
I've got things I want to spend money on and ways to make it. Stella is old news and I plan to purchase something with two wheels, maybe two somethings - one with a motor and another without. Mid-nineties Honda Night Hawks always catch my attention and the Arrow Classic looks sharp enough for the 56,7000 Yen it costs.
My parents no longer have a place for me in the central air affected part of the home and have cleared out a place for me downstairs. This will either result in my spending many fewer hours at home or in my finding a place to live elsewhere. I am aware of my ideal but am down with settling for something less I suppose.
Speaking of elsewhere: I've made effort lately to see more of it. I've stayed at the home of ------, ---------------------------- plasma donation money, swam in the pools of ---------------- and smoked blunts at ------------------------------. Tomorrow night Akron Family is at Back Booth and something is something but tonight I'm home alone with a twelve of Yuengling and thoughts of you.
The sound of beers clinking in the trunk or the knowledge of the presence of beers in the fridge are both comforts to me these days. Having a bit of alprazolam to consume is nice and the hope of finding a junk connection some day keeps me moving about. No luck yet with actually finding anything but the effort made toward finding something is enjoyable. Cannabis is an every day thing but the quality is lacking lately. Having not had a taste of any thing worth my time in any amount of time is frustrating but hopefully not long lasting. When assets are liquidated and cash is available a certain quantity of high grade something will be available and will yield some profit. I am still interested in a Tally connect at whatever cost if that is possible. Also, ----- has found himself in an interesting situation in which his naive parents are both adamant of him finding a doctor who is willing to prescribe him Xanax - if you could give a name of your kind doctor we would both be appreciative.
I have a spare printed tee or two at the moment if you would like to put something down for one. I would like for you to have one regardless of how much it would be worth to you but that's all you. Make it happen.
I cannot help but dream of you. I wake up to an incoming call or a text message and I reach for it with your name on my tongue. I fade from being convinced of waking in a bed next to you to realization of the reality of my own state and surroundings. ----- was enlightening me to virtual pornography DVDs and mentioned its option of either being played through as "naughty" or "nice" - his description of naughty hardly caught my attention but when he described Jenna Jameson acting out nice and used words like warm and love I couldn't help but find myself in a steering-wheel-punching, "fuck"-yelling fit in realization of how exclusively those words describe the sex that I have had in my life. Brian laughed so hard he jumped out and ran about the parked car hooting and hollering; I chugged warm lager and laughed a little at the thought of pain.
Keep this a secret: I am lonely. This too: Fuck my life.
I lack a means by which to whittle existence down to a more manageable size. Heroin mostly. If you could bring down some at any point you know I would be obliged.
I cannot read what I've written, I cannot write any more. I hope every moment of your life is as beautiful as those you choose to share or at least that the sum of it all is enough to keep you happy.