last night dom and maureen and i had (more on this later)-

but the news of the morning is goddamn it does my throat feel incredibly hurty. there's a big lump and it hurts to breathe and i literally woke up with something caving into my chest. god, i remember why i hated being sick. whenever i do get sick, it's always really bad

(deleted but saved)
-----------------------------------------

i don't know what to think of this. sometimes i look at myself and see myself as this multilayered absurdly complex character in a book, and then i think of myself as the guy who authored this monstrosity and all i can say is "jesus christ!"

as i walked over to her side of the window i looked down at my feet and saw an entirely different world, spacious and green and elegant, big pale creatures kissing and yelling and playing with kites, a blue world where people stood sideways and laid straight up.

------------------------------------------
this piece is about a boy named zeeboo and his sister pola. they live on a window, which means they stand sideways and if they were to look down they would see everything out of the window with an absolutely skewed view. it is in these ways that we must look at the world - as if gravity were to hit us sideways

(more on this story later. it just popped in my head!.!
-as none of my windows were open???!)

moderation

when small fingers interlace themselves with big hands, they hold themselves there by their own will. it feels good to be safe and to be protected and to constantly be charmed. this is how we should treat one another, how we ourselves should be treated.

we drank and i tipped over. it was a nice night

"forget creating perfectly crafted characters with logical and illogical development, wonderful plots and ideas, a literary masterpiece if you will. i'm not interested in that right now." - me

;)

so to sum up everything about my feelings regarding dasha (just to put the nail in the coffin already) -

i have the most difficult time still being friends with her these days. it's not that i don't like her or anything, it's just, how are you supposed to be smiley and complacent and energetic

it would be the moments we shared that nobody else could see. the private moments in our own lives that only we know about, how we wake up and make ourselves cereal and watch cartoons in the morning, or how one has to feed the dog every afternoon. we know that people do these things, but when you see someone do it for the first time, and you're the only one watching, it's like you share an intense connection as they've let you see a part of their life that no one else has seen. and it is best when people share these connections, though often overlooked, because it is how we really get to know each other. i miss the days of when she would call me over to listen to her play the piano, and i would feint boredom, but really i would be listening to every note, sometimes dancing with scarecrows in the background, occasionally yelling with the beat to make her laugh. and when i see her now, i think of these moments and wonder, "why am i here right now?"

because the tenderness of our relationship has been cut off. i'm not extreme about this, though. i believe two people can have such a connection without defining it solely as "love". it is a type of love, surely, but it isn't categorized strictly as such. the way i feel about my closest friends, for an obvious example.

it's that

we both have changed so much and we don't even know each other anymore. i keep forgetting that in the past 6 months we've probably seen each other only ten times. i'm not the one that watches inbetween the spaces where she is on the outside anymore, and i don't know how i am supposed to respond to her many grumps and complexions.

but i mean we still have a good time together and all. the other night just driving around getting drinks and playing video games was okay by me. the hellos and the goodbyes are awkward still, but it's something i'll have to get over. but you can't expect everything to be perfect. i think it's so impossible, this friends after relationships thing (unless the breakup was mutual,of course), because how are you supposed to view someone you used to (and still do) love positively, without remembering everything you've felt about them? i sort of have to trick myself into thinking slightly negative things about her, just so i'll resist the urge to explode whenever she's around. i have to live it with it, as it's what makes everyone so goddamn happy to believe, that i'm fine with it, but in fairness, it's not the fucking truth.

and that's why i've been traveling so much. my cure is to get away, and all this garbage is making me lie to myself. whenever i think about home, and how i feel nothing whenever i think about it, i go crazy inside and want to get away for months at a time, before someone comes and meliorates my current emotional thought processes, letting me be peaceful and ignorant, all the while feeling like i'm dying on the inside.

i really want to get away and start over again. i want to make art and make people laugh and share connections like these with as many or as few people as i can meet. it really will all depend on the mood. it's just not cutting it here, and maybe no place will ever really cut it for me, but that's okay. i'm fine with traveling all over the place.


-george

post script:
when you search her name online the first thing that comes up is this:



her favorite color was green. i loved that about her.

we were two little shrubs playing and peering over a mountaintop. but now when you cut open my belly there are a lot more rings than before




post post script:
(dasha, if you ever read this, i think that photo will never stop being "photo of the month" on that page.)

if only people knew what really went on in these post scripts, what really gets saved in the privacy of my real life journal. but those are just so messy and uneventful that i feel i would be forcing myself upon all of you and that would just make everyone throw up

Real update soon journal, I promise. I've been sort of an emotional lion lately - silly and irrational on the inside, hair of fire on the outside. I feel like I should write into you my seed, and you would be able to give birth to my many many children.

jesus christ, what am i saying?

i'm writing this essay on intellect and despite how much logic is used to ease the pain in real life situations, the pain is still there. it's not for a class or anything, i just felt it's something that needed to be said, but in a clear and cohesive manner. so it's going to be typed all pretty and all correct and whatever

in real life i do this:
take showers in the morning, and get excited when people mention things from my childhood. for instance, someone told me yesterday that she was going to dress up as leeloo from the fifth element. as she is a favorite character of mine, i was obviously lit up. and she was too.

the best part about friendships, i've noticed, is when you both can look at something and then look straight at each other and laugh or cry or get angry, but best of all is when you two just smile and though it's thirty nine degrees outside, you don't feel cold at all

god i ramble on about EVERYTHING!

(listen-
it's obvious that i hate everything in my parents that i hate about myself, and that there are a lot of things about me that i overlook, such as RAMBLING, but if you must know

tea is delicious when someone who loves you makes it)

you know what? i thought i knew fucking everything but i don't know a goddamn thing about life.

not a goddamn thing.


but


i've been given a second chance on life and im not gonna fuck it up this time. not with her, not with my starfish. november 1st im gone for 30 days. gotta get into shape by then. gotta be sweet and compassionate and loving

and artistic, and dreamy, and aggressive in what i want to do.


i've been such a bastard this past life. i've learned from my mistakes (terrible, terrible things involving lies, sex, and deceit) and im not going to fuck up.

-says the cocaine head

----
i don't know why i've waited so long to say this but,

i've been fucking atrocious for the past six months. the amount of drugs that have gone through my body is ridiculous. i couldn't see this coming, never ever. last night i shivered in bed while doing my last line of coke and all i wanted to do was die. it's all messy

like a piece of art turned into a piece of cake turned into a piece of garbage that will never be a beautiful park that houses the ducks. i think of such strange things
------------

sometimes i think to myself,
"why do you write all this nonsense? it isn't true at all!"

i watched v for vendetta the other day and the one thing i got from it was that "artists tell lies to tell the truth"

and thats how I feel! what a movie, it's my favorite because it incorporates one thing in my life that i feel very strongly about, making it MY movie and no one elses. i am proud to have it be my favorite movie, and by the same exact reasoning, modest mouse is my favorite band, j.d. salinger is my favorite author, blue is my favorite color, and fucking is my favorite activity!
really though
really
---------------------
these short vignettes get you nowhere
----------------------
blonde nuptial bride won't you play four square with me tonight
------------------------
someone told me to draw ten things a day if i want to learn how to draw. i tried drawing a toaster today and it looked pretty much like this

=========================

okay,
why are you doing this?
why are you telling everyone you're a cokehead now and that all your ambition is gone? that you talk big but can't help but feel miserable at times, words of complete joy but feelings of emptiness. that's cause i'm a liar and a hypocrite! selfish and an unbeliever of my very own work!

i meant it though when i said i'm starting over. really. this part of my life is done. goodBYE mediocrity

"but like in bravehart, he had to fucking topple an empire for her. that's love, man. to conquer a fucking empire just for her." - one of the smartest people i've ever met

about me:
i really don't like blowing my nose with things other than a tissue. the way your nose feels all torn apart after the rough splintery assault of a napkin, well,

it's horrible

life lesson 5:
paint

life lesson 4:
to treasure everyone you love, and to acknowledge people's love for you. don't trap yourself in a corner through your own cancerous thoughts,

get out on the dance floor
and fucking DANCE already!
they're waiting and the gem ridden sky of light might stop twirling!!
hurry!

life lesson 3:
to create
to breathe
to live life looking straight ahead

(bullseye! fifty points!)

life lesson 2:
to
stop
dwelling
on
such
stupid
promises

life lesson:
when someone pleads with you, that despite anything that happens, to promise them that you two will be married in the future,
it's absolute garbage.

a strange thing about human beings:
despite eternal unhappiness,
a delicious sandwich can cure any mood
i have never seen someone cry while eating their favorite food.
that would be ridiculous!

(i also don't know of anyone that doesn't like sandwiches. so oxygen, water, and sandwiches. that's what all humans can agree on. and that is great!)

i remember mary bear once told me, "you know, you're never going to find anyone better than me if we broke up"

and i don't know exactly how i replied, but i think i thwomped her on the head and said something to the tune of, "HEY!"


(*)
[edit:hi best pal]

(*raindrops here)
[edit: throw away your napkins after you use them!}



this used to be on my wall. i really miss it

and dom, my best friend, who i really confide in everything, who i understand the best and who understands me beyond reason. we are both depressed little monkeys, wandering this world for something that catches our eye, always thinking "THIS BIT OF GOOD NEWS WILL SOON COME TO AN END", and never really knowing how lucky we are

in the future, i would talk to myself and his self, and i would tell them, "you guys really turned out better than i ever thought you would." (EXCITEMENT)

and that crazy fucker blaise. he would make me laugh and laugh and give me hopes of future hollywood prospects

starfish and i would talk endlessly about the future, about now, about who we would be, and what we should do. she made me feel like i was eating rainbows, trapped by my own volition in a creepy little lovesong, madly in awe of the angel i made her out to be


(i'm only writing this to embarrass teresa later)
i remember when we first started to discover our own bodies, i asked her, "do you ever think about me?" and she said something like, "i imagined an angel coming down and taking me away and having his way with me"

and i laughed and i laughed and i laughed. and i loved her for telling me such a crazy truth

laura and i stood in a room with nothing but mirrors and fireflies, endless lights dissipating the darkness, a constant second (that never moves).

it is where i find myself now that i cannot understand. away from all those fireflies


this is the exact room in which we stood. we felt amazing

but let me tell you this mr. warm breeze,
why is it that you are so rare around these parts?
why can't you come out and play every single day
so i can ride my bike without feeling cold
barbeque without feeling cold
kiss some lips without feeling cold
but warm!

and it actually feels nice when you touch it!
when it touches you!
when you are together!

on the previous post:
"truthful cliches"

i've asked every person in the world what they want and they said
"to find someone to look me in the eyes and tell me i'm beautiful".

what a ridiculous thing to say, i would reply, but everyone would keep saying it and i suppose over time i started to believe it. until one day, snow white visited me at my door and said
"where's your cereal? i want some!"
and she would go munch munch munch in the afternoon and i would really like her being around but she would get so IRRITATING after a while, drinking all my goddamn milk!!

but i do think she complemented me quite sweetly, and when she died, well, doc and dopey and bashful all came over and started to weep, but football was on and as men we started tackling each other like dummies

entertaining
love sensation
rolls royce
jorda swapo

i don't really know anything about ee cummings except that he hated the use of capital letters, and i'm not trying to be like him at all in that regard. i just share his opinion that capital letters are well, ugly

i really have to tell you guys this exciting story that JUST happened to me. so there was this alien named bob right around the corner from my house and we talked and this is what went down:

me: "oh my god, you're an alien!!"
him: "oh... hey. yeah, name's bob. um, listen. do you know where i can like, get some sort of body or something? i was sorta sent here to get one and, hey, do you want to come along? it'll be fun, we have a phonograph. i know how much you humans like to dance so..."



and hours passed by. we danced and danced on his spaceship until he discovered this ridiculous fact:

bob: "so what you're saying is, these human men like to tear up their own muscles with big heavy things just so the muscles can regrow stronger?"
me: "yeah"
bob: "WHAT? you serious?"
me: "yeah"
bob: "christ, that's stupid"
me: "what're you gonna do."

apparently carl has become the only person i talk to about my writing. and that's crazy in itself!

carl:
"you're not like other writers. you don't seem to give a shit about describing a situation in a way that catches the reader's attention, and makes them feel like they themselves are right in the story. like here, try to describe an earthquake or something."

me:
"you're right. i'm very bad at describing earthquakes. i probably couldn't make a spider bite appear real at all (well let me actually try. jimmy was bit by a spider and blood and guts poured out EVERYWHERE and the slimy red intestine started oozing right out of his fingertips and) and to be honest, you're right, i should get better at that. i remember virginia woolf said something like:

'one has to secrete a jelly in which to slip quotations down people's throats - and one always secretes too much jelly.'

and that always made sense to me."

carl:
"you just quoted that for no reason! you're being the exact thing she's talking badly about!!"

me:
"yeah, you're right. and my adjective use is very poor. my verbs could use a little sprucing up too."

people dont really know much about anyone. all i can do is judge you on your hair or a joke you made but i don't think i'll ever know if you like spiders or not, or if your favorite food ever since you were little is macaroni and cheese, or if the reason you want to be a model is because all your life your parents have been hard on you just because, or so on
and so on
and so on

we're so complex, and i find the little things so fascinating! there's so much squiggly bullshit that gets in the way of your eyes!!

a picture:
(~) (~)

secretly, when i talk to people other than carl:
"and there's always an innate sadness in art. it seems like true artists are faded and drunk, while the successful ones only care about being better than you. art slowly being defined as something, when the true nature of art is its absolute trait of being UNDEFINABLE!"

and after i smoke a joint i'll call him up and say something like
"hey buddy! let's go fuckin watch some cartoons man!"

carl:
"you write about love, and you write about beauty, and sometimes that's all it seems like you write about. there are more topics, more situations, more PEOPLE. why do you always seem to be obsessed over the same things over and over again? answer me that!"

me:
"despite how much people want to talk about politics or cubism or the fucking bird flu, there is always an innate desire for transcendence. you can be a goddamn genius and still be miserable over the little things in life. we should never overlook anything. everything matters."

carl:
"then why cant you just make me happy already"

me:
"i've given you every goddamn thing in the world! it's not my fault that you keep messing things up. if i showed you a video of your own goddamn life you'd fucking hate yourself!"

carl:
"i already do hate myself."

me:
"WELL OKAY THEN!"

starfish dead

carl to me:
"i was in some sort of casino and i was this big shot rich guy, and this girl, she was like five one or something and i told her that i lied to her about my name, and that she knew, and that she had been looking for me all day, and i said well god, let's just go, and i grabbed her out of her goddamn chair and i took her into my room and god it was amazing.

and when i woke up,
well,
you probably know, asshole"

me to carl:
"yeah, i like to fuck with your dreams like that. sorry."

c2me:
"couldn't you make her real? god. and what's with this coke habit you're giving me? and wasn't i supposed to be losing weight, what is this goddamn vanilla shake doing on my nightstand? and why the hell am i coughing up blood in the mornings JESUS"

me2c:
"i'm bored. you sound like it too. let me give you a heroin addiction too that'd be nice"

c:
"HEY FUCK YOU"

my dad said with pretty serious energy:
"how can you be a writer without experience?! go out and see the world!"
in his mind this meant:
go to taiwan and fuck an asian girl. get that scar removed from your chest and be some sort of star. go to new york and start living your life

and i have nothing really against it. he's right about a lot of things, and he's wrong about a lot of things, and you can usually tell when hes wrong.

my mom said this:
"why do you want to be a writer? writers are so miserable, right?"

goddamn right mom. goddamn right! i'd much rather be a comedian, an actor, (not a painter)

i miss my best friends dasha and blaise. where the hell did you two go? you're in the same fucking town for chrissakes!

so carl sat down and wrote about the type of girl he would most desire, and how he would mold himself into the type of person that she would want

this is what he wrote before i got there:

"i want her to be skinny, not too skinny, but i mean slender, and i want her to be a little shorter than me, so i can just hold her against me without using much force, and kiss the living hell out of her."

i knocked on his apartment door a few hours later and this is what he had written in the meantime:

"smart,funny,beautiful,bigeyes,funny, - "

--------------
skipping all that carl said to me this
"man, i don't know what i fucking want in a girl. i always write the skinny part, cause i really like that part, ever since that fling in alaska i really fucking liked holding a girl smaller than me, it's not even a big thing, but jesus, whenever i start writing about characteristics of a person i seem to be spitting out nothing but cliches"

i replied,
"well, maybe the things you desire are general amiable traits that everyone would like in a person. that's not so bad."

c "you know me better than anyone, why are you telling me this"

me "i'm drunk. and i have a headache. and i don't know how to fucking use you in a story or anything, and all you are is a replica of myself that has some wacky off the wall traits, but essentially you are me and i think it would be nice if the both of us could figure out this fucking life together"

c "give me dimension. give me life!"

me "head hurts. football on tv today. god is this room humid or what"

c "lemme get you a beer or something"

-------------------------------------------
this is how men (boys) talk. we talk about everything and we talk about nothing, and it never really drives us to tears. women are the ones that drive us to tears. we can talk about nothing with a woman and absolutely cry our eyes out. there's something about you crazy broads that drives us (me) crazy

the cigarettes are giving me migraines.
working on art is deafening

1/ oh man if i ever become famous and kids read my earlier works and start with that sort of word i think im going to puke all over myself

2/ if i ever become famous, or if i don't, just if one kid reads something i write, watches something i direct, laughs at something i joke about, i will be happy.
2/a. in reality, i would be ecstatic if i had big audiences and i could entertain large crowds. smiles in large numbers are better than smiles in small numbers (though i can appreciate the latter a great deal)

3/ if i ever become famous, i will use words like fuck and cunt, just to be an asshole and to show kids the truth about the real world

4/ the second i become famous im buying all my friends a big car and im going to invite them to all my shows and we're going to be one big happy family that never separates and woww

5/ secretly i feel that the more artistic i am, the more it adds to my charm and (confidence) and well,
the sex. obviously.


-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
as i wrote these, i was wondering which thought made the most sense to me, and well,

none

what the previous post was supposed to say:

though us quiet voices endlessly dream of happier times and artistic visions, eloquent poetry and eloquent prose, blackbrown pottery with tiny googly eyes, walks down haight and getting looks saying "you're that ARTIST!!!"

while
all the time
a part of me would like to:

fuck the chain of command
cut my hair, keep it stylish
work on my body
kiss with the classic smile
constant ecstasy and alcohol
to be someone,
CELEBRITY
and fucking dance all night long

(hollywood)

the wishes fell from the sky and i snooped around the blue grass field until i found one and it read this:

"i want to dance and dance and dance like i used to,

wait, what?
what the hell are you talking about,
these cute little anecdotes are grabbed
and applied to lives that seem structured but never will be!
that's how it should be anyway.

"the way i used to get slammed in the club,
brawn brawn brawn, i love his shoulders his chest his back
didn't even ask
just WENT FOR IT"

hey jack did you check out that girl with the pearl necklace and the brown hair,

YEAH I USED TO DATE HER
fuck off

oh, well i just slammed the hell out of her jack
"what?"

wait, but she sorta liked it man
"oh it's okay then, just keep dancing, ria is over there"

(COCAINE)

how it really is and how it really was:

my father is a good man. he has a kind heart and loves his family dearly. we're the only ones he has, really. when i see him sick now, cranky and snapping at us for strange reasons, all i do is worry that the day he goes might be sooner than i want it to be. i still have to be so many things so he can see me before he dies, and be proud

my mother is an artist and has the spirit of a seventeen year old girl inside of her. she was trapped by unfortunate situations in life, but i don't think she really doubts any of it. we're fabulously similar, and every so often i'll spill everything about my life to her.

neither of my parents really care about material possessions at all. they care about their children growing up strong and healthy and successful, to do everything they were uncapable of doing, to live their lives vicariously through people who so closely resemble themselves

and i love them. so i'm going to try very hard to make them proud.

so many vices though. too many. and i really want to drop them all because not only are they ruining my life,
they're ruining the chances of everything good that could happen

i just got off the phone with dasha and boy, i don't think i've ever cackled that hard in my life

the idea of imagining the worst looking people your girlfriend has gone out with, and how whenever you kiss them it's like kissing that other person. it wasn't that cliche idea that made me laugh

it was when she said "no he never kissed her"! and i said yeah but he thought about it.

and THAT, the fact that you're going out with someone that thought about, wow


(i don't usually write things like these in my journal. but i find it necessary to point out every aspect of my life truthfully, and how it is. chronicles of geebia!)

2:15pm yesterday

mom:
george, your father had a stroke you have to come to the hospital right away!

i got there and while he was getting his head x-rayed (i hadn't slept the night before either), i just stared ahead of me and started crying. i don't know what exactly i was crying for, and my mom just sort of looked at me and asked what was wrong, and i was thinking about how me and my parents have never really known each other fully, and how my father is stuck to days long gone, and how if he were to die today, he would die
unhappy. and i said that, and she said, well, you're here, and that's the best thing you can do.

i can't end up the way they are, so sad and lonely and defeated by life and all the things that make them happy are so material
(though,

me and my sister have a chance to become great people, for we have great BLOOD!)





(i don't actually mean that.
completely, anyway - = + - & ^ % $ @ !

drugs have ruined everything wholesome in my life and i dearly wish i could take it all back.

the experiences that i've had, well, i suppose i'll be one hell of a writer one day. and hopefully one hell of a teacher and someone that can make you laugh and feel nice inside. a tennis player, one that goes to the country club and shoves watercress down my

w
a
it

the sun shines no matter how bad the day is. and though the season of clouds is upon us, let us look to the trees in triumph! for we planted them not GOD!

i think of the craziest stuff these days. dreams of completely naked men just talking to each other and i'm yelling to them you guys are naked! but they just keep talking and talking, and if you were to eat a rainbow one of them said,
you would be so gone. you would see colors upon colors that you have never seen before and it would blow your goddamn mind

i feel like i should be writing, writing

kbsdaughter said this: "
i don't want to talk right now"

and then my pen dripped ! swooped! felllllll

riley:
"did i ruin your life?"
carl:
".. what?"

quietly running from

spent last night looking at swirling colors and crazy bangs

spent this evening with mary bear, slept and played mario under big big sky (a homeless man told her she was beautiful and
yeah shes gorgeous isn't she?)

(in the future)
as for gravity,
he had gained a bunch of weight
(too much to even look at)
and the rest of the world would suffer,
endlessly crawling,
faces flat against cement
"hello jim," said the man with his face on the ground
"hello," said i

two clouds puffed as hard as they could and asked "why the hell don't you return our calls?!"

and i said
"um..."

starfish

i've been working on this whole obituary piece, trying to make it as dark and annoying as possible, but in all honesty i dont have the emotional capacity to be talking about my own death right now. reality is starting to hit me and my body feels very very flimsy.

and carl wasn't a bad guy either. he was very kind and decent and good-hearted. he was just a victim of circumstance (and some poor choices in retrospect). whenever him and riley would take naps in the afternoon, he would wait for her to fall asleep and whisper things like this into her ear:

"hi princess. i know you're sleeping and everything but i just wanted to let you know that i love you and i can't possibly imagine life without you. this is perfect. look at you."
he would then press his cheek against hers and kiss her on the forehead and drift off to sleep. naps were carls favorite activity with riley. he could sleep and sleep and whenever he opened his eyes she would be there. i think that's why he would always drift off to sleep. just to wake up next to her

if only i had given carl more confidence in himself. ever since they broke up i don't think i've seen him (truly) laugh once

carl and his mystery girl would come over sometimes to talk about life and comedy and divine inspiration. drinks and all that as all of us were invariably stuck in situations we ultimately would never understand. when his girlfriend left the room, carl had this to say to me-

"george,
you've got to write me into her life. please? i miss her, i really really miss her and i don't care who she's been with all this time, i just want to be happy again, and i've done all this crazy bullshit, i've tried to live life and i can't. my mind is wrecked. i'm listless and dying and everything you have me do never makes me feel fulfilled at all."

to which i replied,
"she's in love. you're just going to have to find someone else. she looks like a sweet girl you know. besides, all you did when you were with her was sleep."

carl laughed wildly and pressed his face down into a pillow and began to punch himself in the back of the head.

life has become so serious and mundane
i deserve something else

its a gimmick

in which leo da vinci's girlfriend would say,
"when were you going to write that play about ME?"

and him,
still studying still smoking still trying to achieve greatness
would say
"please, will you just give me some TIME?"

in the fourth dimension, there is a period of time where carl and riley were meant to act on their emotions and if either one of them made a mistake, it would not be. people don't exist in the fourth dimension, really, they're more like pictures on giant wallpaper spread throughout a long long hall

and if you look straight down the hall, without paying attention to what's on the walls, you can see complete and total darkness

and me, being the crazy guy i am, stopped and watched carl and riley during their experience together. i loved to watch them, as they reminded me so much of me and her when we were together, but carl tried, he really fucking tried and still, it didn't happen.
every once in a while ill go back and stop right there in that hall and just watch, over and over the short time that they were together in their lives and i won't say anything at all because they looked so goddamn happy

and whenever im in that hall i refuse to walk any further than their smiling faces because i'm scared to know what'll happen next.


earlier this morning however, i got a message from riley saying this,
" will you stop looking at us? it's none of your goddamn business!"

in the second dimension, there are flat versions of carl and riley, unnamed, but with similar circumstances. after about six months of being broken up, they decided to get back together which really didn't turn out the way either of them wanted it to. they got married anyway, at the age of 23, fresh out of college with new hopes and aspirations. since they lived in the second dimension, their house was just a drawing on a sheet of paper. when one was punished in the second dimension, their house would either be erased, or located to a sheet with lines all over it.

anyway,
here is their final conversation together (2 years into marriage)
flat carl: "i'm so sick of you!"
flat riley: "i'm not attracted to you anymore!"
flat carl: "i'm doing drugs!"
flat riley: "i don't care! fuck you!"
flat carl: "where the hell are my pants, did you erase my pants?"
flat riley: "they're in the icebox, frozen just the way you like them you goddamn son of a bitch"

people sort of talk funny in the second dimension. their thoughts are scattered and honesty is never an issue because lies don't exist. their world is too small to complicate things with lies.

but when they first tried getting back together they slept together and they slept together until flat carl was physically unable to do anything anymore.

when the real carl, the three dimensional one, first started having sex, he didn't really understand that sex was a complete physical and emotional connection with another person, no shirts no socks no nothing. his first real sexual experience, the first one that ever made his heart go crazy, was when he first had sex with riley, one time on his 21st birthday. it was the first night in about eight months that they had seen each other, and he was very busy with his film studies, and she was very busy with her political studies, and alcohol was everywhere and i guess they just sort of wanted to see how things would go

and later, about two months later things ended up the same.

this is what im trying to say:
flat carl and flat riley couldn't exist in two dimensions and carl and riley, as much as carl wanted it to happen, could not even fucking understand three.

in which riley (carl's girlfriend) told him when they broke up:
"you're going to meet someone ten times better than me one day, and she's going to be
soo lucky"

at the meeting riley and other girls dicussed this line and its effectiveness in break-ups. "yeah, it'll give him more confidence i swear to god, i use it all the time and none of my ex-boyfriends have called me up ever since"

carl: "THATS CAUSE THEY HATE YOU GODDAMN IT"

carl to riley: "but i love YOU. why are you feeding me these bullshit lines, i don't want to hear this..."

riley: "i'm sorry. i just don't want to hurt you..."

and god came and struck them both down for being so typical. riley, who had slept with several men in the time that she and carl had broken up, was heartbroken at age 24, nowhere to go, no one to take her to the land of candy!

and so carl, and his mystery girl of the future went and had a very successful career as stand up comics. carl was known for his witty use of the word "sausage" and the mystery girl would just smile and look cute, and all the boys would fall in love with her and carl would laugh about it and then, when nobody was looking, he would think about riley and start to cry a little bit, and no matter how focused he was in life, he could never understand how someone completely gets over anything. and he made a joke about it that went like this,
"...it seems like once you're done fucking the one apple, a worm from your fucking childhood comes and bites your sausage off during the second one"

written about age and cause of death(obituaries written later):
george: 39 (heart attack)
teresa: 74 (nautral causes)
dasha: 24 (2012 mayan prophecy)
dominic: 29 (drug overdose)
alan: 64 (stabbed by own knife - refused to die in a hospital)
blaise: 47 (gunshot by lonely fan who refused to believe he had changed)
maureen: 30 (wondering where dom went)
laura: 58 (lung cancer - second hand smoke from working as a waitress)
jackie b: 100 (parasol'd off of a hot air balloon)
liz (my sister): 63 (lung cancer - started smoking at 17)
michelle (my mother): 73 (loneliness)
stanley (my father): 64 (natural causes - had colon cancer at age 36)

in which my father used to go out late at night to the strip, arm around his mistress, lines waiting for him upstairs, constant loneliness and unavoidable headrushes, young and extravagant, DEAD to his own son

in which my son would say:
my dad used to be so fucking creepy when he was my age. my god

in which my wife would say(and this is important because i cannot die until this happens):
i felt like a goddamn princess all the time. what happened georgie
come
back?

the man with the ballroom glasses, black tuxedo and shaded lenses, said this to me, right before i died
"breathe, son. it all gets better afterwards"

so it's decided -
in order for me to not end up a miserable old man,
my now self
has to bite the bullet for the time being
so my future self
can be happy and all that

oh how we make up things to keep us going

plenty of fish in the sea
plenty of clams like me
plenty of sunshine like her
though it gets dark down there

and aside from all that, i still find joy and comfort in the little things,
such as my tiny little record player singing this -


i've got so much honey the bees envy me
i got a sweeter song than the birds in the tree
don't need no fortune, no money or fame
but when I got my girl...

and before they sung this song about dreaming in california, and it made me wonder,
is california the right place for me?

i just sort of vented everything i could to her
and it all didn't make sense it was hazy and emotional and endless and all she wanted to do was take a nap and nobody wants to actually hear any of this
so

after this next trip i'll be very busy. the only thing i can do is try and keep my mind off of things. no matter what i do, it's not going to change a f

you know,
i don't believe that at all
i still think everything i do still matters
i refuse to give up on anything
FUCK that
im stronger than that

goodbye MOON!

there is no difference between human beings worshipping the sun for thousands of years, claiming that "light" is what will make us happy in life, that endless purity and sunshine is what makes a perfect life...

and a goddamn dog barking at the moon

and before i go i want everyone to know that when i read old posts and old entries i too, feel completely sick to my stomach and sometimes i ask myself, "who the fuck IS this miserable sounding guy? god get over it!"

and we all know how hard it is!

and it isn't just her that's tearing me apart, i'm more complex than that. it's everything, infinite now, broken past and hazy future
im worried about all of it
especially about my race with liz to see who's going to be famous first

i need to travel. i made the right decision in leaving when i went to portland in that i had to get the hell away, and now, i need to make the right decision in where the fuck im going. i refuse to be stuck anymore. i already made the stupidest fucking decision in the world when i decided not to go off to college just to look
at
her

im always feeling like im in the movies. holden teresa bang bang

this all started when (i suppose i'll be honest) we were doing lines the other day (my first and probably only time) and while coming down dom asked me some questions that sort of went like this:
"so do you think there's a chance you two will ever get back together?"
and i looked at him and i said
"is it that obvious i'm still in love with her?"
and both him and maureen said yes

and later that night dom asked
"what's going to make you happy george?"
and it was the scariest question anyone has ever asked me because i honestly had no idea whatsoever.

and people could point out that i love writing and that i've always talked about wanting to be a writer, and maybe i want to be an actor or a director or a fucking philanthropist in any regard,.df

but it was never my art that i cared about, it was who i wanted to make it all for (which has always superceded everything) -

and that person has changed. if kv were here he'd probably tell me it should only be for myself and no one else. that's why i write, i suppose. dom made it a point that my constant writing is like his constant talking. i don't know where im going with any of this, i strayed from the point already as to not look too patheticc

i don't know what i'm going to do today. a carousel ride really sounds nice, maybe a flight through some clouds on a hoverbike. ive never been inside a windmill before, and there are hills nearby with hundreds.
broken little windmill don't you cry
papa's gonna buy you a brand new sky
and if that sky is clear and bright
you'll forget about me before it's nightttttt

bye for now
love,
george

my phone'll be on.

(and the only thing thats seem to make me feel better are yelling godDAMN FUCK FUCK FUCK at the top of my lungs and reading the divine comedy)

i've so far been missing for two days. people are already calling me asking me where i am and it makes me content somewhat but not in the areas where i feel empty the most. .

and something i used to feel was so goddamn fucking important to me (purity) i could fucking care less about (because)
i
didn't realize what was
going on

and i really wanted to say goodbye to ( ) before i left
so i think i will send a message

i am genuinely defeated

a slow busy life or a fast paced life with nothing to lose

silliness:
having a miserable day
and just as the police officer was handing me my ticket
teresa called!
and brightened everything right up

but i couldn't exactly talk to her for long
though i wanted to
and sometimes i think i'm sort of crazy
thinking about calling her around midnight
(as that's when she gets home about)
and talking about my entire life
as if it were some goddamn book
and all the little characters (especially the protagonist!)
living their silly little lives
have little to say nowadays
because they all don't know what the fuck they're doing anymore

(need a break)

i think the funniest thing alan has ever done is when we were in seattle visiting his (ex girlfriend) and she lifted her arms, giving the universal sign for hug, and all he did was give her a high five.

i am just a
happy little clam


you and me are
happy little clams

us two guys are happy little clams

and sometimes!
we sing

i feel like i should be writing about a thursday two thousand thursdays ago, where i dropped ecstasy and an old friend of mine also dropped it and there was this really amazing pixie floating around singing in our ears

and god DAMN was her voice beautiful. and it wasn't even anything. it was like the first time i ever tried skittles

and i hardly ever have skittles anymore. and when i woke up she was very much gone, after a long night of everyone absolutely in love with her, kissing her, fading away hopelessly at 4am

but

whenever she looked over i smiled as i couldn't help it
and she smiled too because of it

we were all supposed to have breakfast but didn't. she left me her number and my pal said she wanted me to call her but i never got around to it.

and so i was wondering all along:
"what do you do with the people who you can only see so much of in your life but want to hang around with forever?"

i suppose
never lose contact
because they'll all be back

won't they

i've sort of been haunted by a night i had about a month ago, where i second guessed myself extremely, very very stupid and shallow and fucked up,
two little monsters playing on grass
with the perfect little wind
and she roared
and i roared
and in the morning it was very awkward, not roaring anymore

and of course this applies to several of my nights, lonely drugged up and wandering, nowhere else to go, but i have to admit that mary bear was right
all i needed was another monster to hold against me
and i was very fine with everything

(i like the way giraffes feel when you hold them against yourself. i'm an elephant though, so it makes sense to me)