The Long Piss Goodbye

You wouldn’t believe how surprised I was to find this phrase blasting through my head. I’ve never ever heard of Halcali, so the “clever” fetish pun doesn’t slide. What the fuck was going on that led to this idea, this arrangement of words?

I’m so tired. Second time taking a long break from watching Short Cuts, which ain’t bad so far, but the trio of fishermen make me so fucking angry. I’ll finish it tomorrow.

Started reading the Luna brothers’ The Sword. I don’t feel confident in saying why, but I don’t think I’ll be finishing it anytime soon, despite how enticing it’s turning out to be, like their other series Girls, but with longer build-up periods between shorter conflicts.

Finished watching LOST’s fifth season. It’s great.

I get the feeling that people see some of my tattoo designs and expect me to produce anything the way they see it. I’d feel better about my role as an artist if people didn’t hide their fucking disappointment. That’s just insulting, after producing something I volunteered to.
“Hey, catch me a fish!”
“Will this do?”
“Oh, uh, yeah, this’ll be just, uh, great, man, thank you.”
“You gonna tell him it’s poisonous?”
“No, it’d hurt his feelings.”
That’s some ignorant bullshit. Of course, my suspicions are unfounded, and there’s no reason to think I’m being mistreated. I fall asleep to the sound of a voice telling me that “it’s okay,” that I’ll be fine and I’m a “genius”, while I wrap my ugly hands around my ugly arms to keep myself warm, and I lose myself and think someone’s always with me, but nobody’s here, except me and the parents, who have decided long ago to be servants more than parents and resort to crude behavior to get my attention. Would they make up their minds?
Not like it matters. They assigned their own responsibilities to themselves, and I’ll assign whatever responsibilities to myself. They should be so lucky that I’ve got it figured out this far, where most people my age do without thought of consequence or cause. What about me makes everyone think my eyes are below theirs, like I’m everyone’s student, and anything else is just a form of getting attention. They’re all idiots, even the friends who think twenty years behind and think I’m outdated. Fuck them. Fuck everyone. Fuck the people who think they’re better than me, fuck the people who think they can control me, fuck the people who claim to know me, and fuck everyone who’s shown me that I mean nothing to them. I don’t need them. I don’t need her. I don’t need anybody but myself, do I? I’m a fucking genius! I don’t need self righteous idiots singing the tune of the desperate artist, who’ve never fucking known depravity like I’ll never know depravity! I don’t need a community of people who up and forget everything I’ve ever fucking done for them! I don’t…
I don’t need to keep reminding myself how lonely I am and how much I love the people who don’t seem to want to love me back.

Why can’t I ever talk to Jamie without dealing with his assumptions that I’m trying to prove something? Is he, himself, trying to prove something so often?
Why can’t I log onto Facebook without feeling sick every time I see a person’s name? I’ve had time to disconnect myself from her emotionally, and I really want to say that I’m convinced that I’ll fall in love with someone and forget all about her.
Peter says that “drama is overrated.” Well, Peter, I’m a one man show, and when you say a thing like “you’ll see how pointless it all is,” you’re telling me that all of the disputes I find myself in with myself have absolutely no meaning, or value, nor do they allow for improvement of understanding the self and others… you’re telling me that I’m supposed to want to kill myself, Peter, to stop all of my dramatic inner conflict. Is that what you really mean? Because when you toss around sentiments like that it certainly feels and smells like a rotting, swollen ape-man is spitting those words of self-destruction onto my face.
I think something’s wrong with me, but nothing can be wrong with me, because I’m a creator, and we’re all supposed to be knocked off our hinges; it’s the only way we get people to show that they love us the way we want to be loved, isn’t it?
“It’s stupid, man.”
FUCK YOU! YOU PIECE OF FLAMING SHIT-CARCASS, YOU CRAWL BACK INTO THE DEAD CUNT THAT SHOT YOU OUT BEFORE YOU EVER FUCKING THINK YOU CAN UNDO THE REALITY I FUCKING LIVE IN WHEN YOU’RE TRAPPED IN YOUR OWN LITTLE CIRCLE-JERK-TOPIA WITH ALL THE STUPID WHORES AND ASSHOLES WHO THINK THEY AMOUNT TO ANYTHING MORE THAN THINKING PILES OF DIRT! I know what I am, and I’m a FUCKING GENIUS!

I guess I deserve to live and die alone. It certainly feels like I’m half done. Don’t misunderstand me, I don’t take for granted that I do live with other people who care about me, I’m talking about my living consciousness. It’s all alone, inventing talking pictures to entertain itself. I’m waiting for another one of her to drop out of the sky, but younger and more impressionable, for me to impose some of my own interests, so I won’t scare her away, and I won’t bore her, and she’ll want to be around me, at least. Not this shit I’m in the middle of right now. Could the world make another her, and if so, do I deserve the chance to try to be with her?

It always occurs to me, that no matter how dark and sinister my thoughts turn toward myself, it’ll never affect her. She’ll never know, and she’ll never care, and t hurts just a little more, and I run away from the thought and keep myself from realizing truths that everyone else never thinks of as anything more than minor details. They aren’t minor details to me, the pain I feel is real pain, it’s deep, and every passing moment brings new ideas and possibilities. Things may get more hazardous in the future, but now, in these days, when I’m young and frail, I hang on the brink, teetering over the edge of a wall dividing the center of a pit and the centers of countless other pits.
I try so hard to keep from wanting to be someone who doesn’t give a shit. Sometimes I do want it, but it could never happen, could it? I even still find it difficult to be as definite as to use the word “never”.

Not much else to mention. (I wrote that sentence before baring my soul, and I’d rather type in this sentence than reach my hand to erase that one.)