Tonight I sat in Coffee Exchange and read the rest of Steppenwolf. I looked at the four girls sitting in the corner. I thought that maybe one of them was smiling at me. I smirked to myself about the one in the front right corner who was reading a comic book and had a pink thing in her hair. I was overwhelmed with the beauty and intricacy of Hesse's words and wanted to yell in passion to myself "O Rosa! O departed youth! O Goeth! O Mozart!"
Tonight I sat in Coffee Exchange and drank a chocolate milk. Before finishing Steppenwolf, I decided to ride my bike home. I rather impulsively and out-of-character decided to take a side street home and listen to music and bask in the city I was born in. The moon reflected on to the clouds and, for a moment, I was more happy than I had been in weeks. A Mercury hatchback pulled up to the side of me and in a second's mistake I was shot and left to die on the corner of Blacklidge and Cherry.
Tonight I sat in Coffee Exchange and didn't know why I had ended up there. I sat awkwardly in the corner and couldn't muster the attention to read the rest of Steppenwolf. In a submerged burst of guilt I got in my car and drove away. I cried and cried and cried. There is something wrong with me, I told myself. I began to feel the pressure of the culture pushing against me from all directions. I thought about talking to my mom earlier that day and it all began to come back to me. I remembered how easily I’d forgotten how robbed I’ve felt from a childhood. How I'd forgotten that I spent the better part of my adolescence sitting in front of a monitor chatting on IRC, gaining imaginary positions of imaginary power. I had forgotten why I cried when I first listened to "Rhapsody in Blue" in full at the Ranch. The simply beauty of being alone and watching the colors change in the sky had become so far diluted in my complacency of today that I felt I’d forgotten everything I loved about being human. I told my mom how much I envied her younger self for being able to find refuge in school and art and music. I thought about how everything makes me sad. How I get sad on the computer. How I hate the life the thing sucks out of me. How I want to leave this town so bad and find a new. How I want to say hi to people on the street, want to go to the beach on a weekend. I want to make a mixtape for someone I’ve never met. I began to cry, and cry, and cry and I thought about how Kyle is dead, and it’s just not fair. And Danny is dead, and it’s just not fair. I thought about Matt and how beautiful and intricate of a writer he was and how he struggled to form a coherent sentence only a year later. I woke up in my car driving to find that I had once again been looking at my life, however intently, through a magnifying glass and again missed the big picture. My rent and my car and my degree. I got on the computer that day hoping that girl from middle school had written me back, while I sickeningly thought about sex and death wondered why I was sitting in that awful room. I told myself I shouldn’t have had coffee that day, I told myself I shouldn’t have turned on the computer, I told myself I should have gone for that run, I told myself I should have talked to that girl in the coffee shop who I thought was smiling at me. I told myself to be grateful because my childhood is dead or dying and I've had it so much better than the rest. I got home and sat in the garage for a few minutes. I walked though the living room and told Alex I was fine and tired and had a long day and that I was going to bed, Goodnight.
Tonight I sat in Coffee Exchange and was only a few pages away from finishing Steppenwolf when I ran into Kelly, a girl from middle school who I had written to on Facebook but had never written me back. She told me how she never cared too much for online messaging, which I admired and envied. She told her friends she'd catch up with them in a few and we talked about life since our adolescence. We laughed at the time we were both too drunk to take her home, and I had to call my friend Lloyd to sneak out the back of my house and drive my car to take her home. How embarrassing for her, that we left her at her doorstep. We laughed and I no longer held my year-older superiority over her head. We liked the same music and I rather impulsively and out-of-character asked if she wanted to go to a park I knew about in a neighborhood near Blacklidge and Cherry. As we walked we took a side street and talked about old friends and basked in the city we were born in. She asked me about Kyle, who was dead, I told her it wasn't fair and she agreed. Turns out she also knew Matt, but never of how beautiful and intricate of a writer he was. We got to the park and, at least in my mind, somewhat ironically sat on the curb surrounding it. I met Matt at the Ranch, I said, and I told her a short conversation we had on a camping trip outside of Douglas, which I for some reason remember very vividly:
"I want to visit all those stars," Matt said to me, "and go a google miles per hour," and paused, "in the Millenium Falcon."
I laughed at the reference and said "Yeah, but... you'd probably explode, or get liquefied by a supernova or something."
"That's science! Screw science," he said to me, "science is the only thing keeping us from reaching those stars."
I knew Kelly wasn't affected by the the story the way I was, but she chuckled all the same. We walked back to Coffee Exchange. I offered to drive her to her friends but she declined, but we exchanged phone numbers and I went home feeling sad and accomplished.
Tonight I sat in Coffee Exchange and turned on my computer but it wouldn't connect to the WiFi. I laughed at myself and my pathetic modernness, and in an attempt to justify my trip bought a chocolate milk. I sat and read the ending of Steppenwolf. As I shut the book to the table, Kyle walked in spastically as he always did, our eyes caught and he sat down at my table. He asked me how I was. I told him fine, except that I got a flat tire at the corner of Blacklidge and Cherry and had to walk myself here. He was as kindhearted and well-mannered as he'd always been. I confessed to him the beauty and intricacy of Hesse and Matt's writing. I told him how I was sorry that after the Ranch I had never talked to him as a friend again, and that I still felt some slivers of guilt for not attempting to save him before he died. He forgave me, and smirked and told me the girl in the corner was smiling at me. He said how he's since had the chance to find refuge in school and art and music and thinks I should do the same. Alex texted me, concerned, asking where I was and I told him I was fine but tired and would soon be going to bed, Goodnight. Kyle and I laughed about my adolescent obsession with "Rhapsody in Blue," and I told how he was one of only three friends of mine who was there the one time I played it in full. Before he left I told him I wanted to share something he reminded me of because we'd both grown up in the same city. It was the very end of a poem I wrote in my journal from the Ranch on a camping trip outside of Douglas. I told him it wasn't the best but one of the more honest things I felt I'd written to myself. I said to him:
tucson, arizona and orange twilight
stars and coronas in the muggy desert night
this is the place i dream and dread: home
land of the gleams of sad and dead tones
I knew Kyle wasn't affected by the the poem the way I was, but he chuckled all the same. I told him I was sorry about everything, walked my bike home, and basked in the city I was born in.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Rejection of Technology
Why do I have dreams about throwing my computer into the street and smashing it with the back of my heel?
Right before his last schizophrenic breakdown, Neil told me he was sitting online on his Macbook. He got up to get a drink of milk, and when he looked back over at his computer the Apple logo was shining through the Meat Puppets sticker he put on the back of it. This sent him into a frenzy, and he took his computer outside and smashed it on the sidewalk then threw it into the dumpster. When Neil asked me again if he thought I was crazy I could only say that that may have been the most sane thing I've ever heard, and that was the truth.
I am beginning to hate this glowing little rectangle that dominates my life. I hate that I go to work and stare at it. And I come home to stare at it. I come back to it like some sort of amphetamine, sitting through hours of mindless idle flickering for the few minutes I have a comment or message or link. I browse friends' pages like some sort of overly curious stalker type who goes through peoples drawers and reads peoples journals while they're taking a shower. Its like any other drug, where I sit back and think to the early days when I found something of entertainment or something of substance but now only find myself asking why I keep refreshing my Facebook to read the status of people I don't even talk to anymore.
Why do people become fans of being barefoot?
I feel like being barefoot symbolizes everything that becoming a fan of it on Facebook isn't about. Does that make any sense?
Is it ironic that I'm posting this on an online blog?
Lately I have thought that perhaps culturally we are not accustomed to this overload of convenience of technology. My constistently shallowing social life, my growing contempt for mindless YouTubian comedy clips and my widening appreciation of physical, tangible art is starting to concern me. I can't tell if I'm becoming some art fuck who sits in Plush reading a book or if I am just following that half-witted rebellion thats been sitting in me since I was old enough to know how to provoke my parents. I think that the technology pendulum has hit its apex in our culture and we will soon be learning to reject it. Maybe we haven't figured out how to use it in moderation. Or maybe I just haven't learned how to use it in moderation.
It sickens me the amount of time I could have spent writing. Or reading. Or writing songs. Or doing all the things I did before this little world that exists on this little screen overtook the time between getting out of school and going to work.
Well, I'm not wasting my time anymore. Maybe it's adolescent. I don't care. I am human. I hate this fucking thing. And I'm not coming back.
Until I check to see if I have any comments on this tomorrow.
Right before his last schizophrenic breakdown, Neil told me he was sitting online on his Macbook. He got up to get a drink of milk, and when he looked back over at his computer the Apple logo was shining through the Meat Puppets sticker he put on the back of it. This sent him into a frenzy, and he took his computer outside and smashed it on the sidewalk then threw it into the dumpster. When Neil asked me again if he thought I was crazy I could only say that that may have been the most sane thing I've ever heard, and that was the truth.
I am beginning to hate this glowing little rectangle that dominates my life. I hate that I go to work and stare at it. And I come home to stare at it. I come back to it like some sort of amphetamine, sitting through hours of mindless idle flickering for the few minutes I have a comment or message or link. I browse friends' pages like some sort of overly curious stalker type who goes through peoples drawers and reads peoples journals while they're taking a shower. Its like any other drug, where I sit back and think to the early days when I found something of entertainment or something of substance but now only find myself asking why I keep refreshing my Facebook to read the status of people I don't even talk to anymore.
Why do people become fans of being barefoot?
I feel like being barefoot symbolizes everything that becoming a fan of it on Facebook isn't about. Does that make any sense?
Is it ironic that I'm posting this on an online blog?
Lately I have thought that perhaps culturally we are not accustomed to this overload of convenience of technology. My constistently shallowing social life, my growing contempt for mindless YouTubian comedy clips and my widening appreciation of physical, tangible art is starting to concern me. I can't tell if I'm becoming some art fuck who sits in Plush reading a book or if I am just following that half-witted rebellion thats been sitting in me since I was old enough to know how to provoke my parents. I think that the technology pendulum has hit its apex in our culture and we will soon be learning to reject it. Maybe we haven't figured out how to use it in moderation. Or maybe I just haven't learned how to use it in moderation.
It sickens me the amount of time I could have spent writing. Or reading. Or writing songs. Or doing all the things I did before this little world that exists on this little screen overtook the time between getting out of school and going to work.
Well, I'm not wasting my time anymore. Maybe it's adolescent. I don't care. I am human. I hate this fucking thing. And I'm not coming back.
Until I check to see if I have any comments on this tomorrow.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Summer Shit Show List
I will now make a to-do list I can refer to anytime when feeling bored, lonely and/or depressed, which will inevitably happen over and over again this summer. When I don't feel like doing something from this list, I pledge to expand the list by at least one number.
Number 1: Dice
I will buy a pair of six-sided dice. On the first di, I will put the letters N, E, S, and W. The other will be a regular di. I will then roll the first di, and that will determine the direction I drive in. The number on the second di will determine the number of miles I drive in that direction. I will roll three times. When I get there, I will take pictures of it. Then I will drive home. If the first di lands on a blank spot, it will function as a skip.
This will be an ever-growing list.
Number 1: Dice
I will buy a pair of six-sided dice. On the first di, I will put the letters N, E, S, and W. The other will be a regular di. I will then roll the first di, and that will determine the direction I drive in. The number on the second di will determine the number of miles I drive in that direction. I will roll three times. When I get there, I will take pictures of it. Then I will drive home. If the first di lands on a blank spot, it will function as a skip.
This will be an ever-growing list.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Patterns?
Hmm.
Okay, maybe it's just coincidence. Or maybe I just have enough arguments in my head that the odds of it popping up are high.
The first time:
There was a show at Dry River. No one I knew was going to be there, for sure. But I decided to go anyway. That may not seem big to you, but I don't usually take my chances socially like that. It was on the back of a truck on Speedway right before I turned onto Main Street.
The second time:
I decided to go to Flagstaff, once again, and stay with my friend Gary. I also was visiting Jessi, which was probably a bad decision. But I wanted to see what NAU University life was like, kind of. And I had to get the hell out of my apartment. But there it was, facing me dead on, stuck on the truck I parked next to the second I arrived in Flagstaff.
The third time (tonight):
I sat in my apartment looking at Monty Python videos on YouTube and realized I wasn't going to get any of my math homework done. No, I'm not going to fail math again. Not a fourth time. But it's already 9:30. Maybe if I ride my bike to the U of A library I can get it done there. If I ride my bike I can get some exercise and be stuck there and HAVE to do it. But no, I'd have to ride back at least by 2:30am. That can't be safe, not in this town. People get hurt. But I can't fail. And fuck that, no, I refuse to live in fear. This is my city, too. I have to force myself to do it. It's the right thing to do. And I really can't fail. But I woke up so early this morning. I'll be too exhausted to take the test tomorrow. But... That's it, I'm doing it.
And when I got to the library, I sat down, and there it was again, sitting right in front of me, glaring, on the back of some dude's laptop:
THE STICKER.
It follows me.
I must be crazy.
There must be a pattern. No.
It's definitely chance. But if it's chance I should probably stop thinking about it.
But two of the three times they were on trucks.
And two of the three times they were at universities.
Two of the three times they had to do with my social life.
Two of the three times they had to do with my academic life.
But three of the three times have all been after I have answered myself this question: Well, should I fucking do it, or what?
I don't know why, but at that moment I decided to text as many people as I could think of and ask what they were thinking at that moment. Responses:
"I love this video. I'm so happy."
"Grandpas are mean."
"I wonder why Martha Stewart never gets asked much about prison by talk show hosts."
"I'm sort of dating this guy. I'm thinking about him."
"Thinkin about talkin to this girl."
"Photography."
"What jewelry to wear to my wedding."
"I was thinking about setting Twitter up on my phone."
"Pizza."
"My grandpa was a drunk but I love him."
Does that have anything to do with anything?
Probably not.
But... I don't know.
I'm going to sleep.
Okay, maybe it's just coincidence. Or maybe I just have enough arguments in my head that the odds of it popping up are high.
The first time:
There was a show at Dry River. No one I knew was going to be there, for sure. But I decided to go anyway. That may not seem big to you, but I don't usually take my chances socially like that. It was on the back of a truck on Speedway right before I turned onto Main Street.
The second time:
I decided to go to Flagstaff, once again, and stay with my friend Gary. I also was visiting Jessi, which was probably a bad decision. But I wanted to see what NAU University life was like, kind of. And I had to get the hell out of my apartment. But there it was, facing me dead on, stuck on the truck I parked next to the second I arrived in Flagstaff.
The third time (tonight):
I sat in my apartment looking at Monty Python videos on YouTube and realized I wasn't going to get any of my math homework done. No, I'm not going to fail math again. Not a fourth time. But it's already 9:30. Maybe if I ride my bike to the U of A library I can get it done there. If I ride my bike I can get some exercise and be stuck there and HAVE to do it. But no, I'd have to ride back at least by 2:30am. That can't be safe, not in this town. People get hurt. But I can't fail. And fuck that, no, I refuse to live in fear. This is my city, too. I have to force myself to do it. It's the right thing to do. And I really can't fail. But I woke up so early this morning. I'll be too exhausted to take the test tomorrow. But... That's it, I'm doing it.
And when I got to the library, I sat down, and there it was again, sitting right in front of me, glaring, on the back of some dude's laptop:
THE STICKER.
It follows me.
I must be crazy.
There must be a pattern. No.
It's definitely chance. But if it's chance I should probably stop thinking about it.
But two of the three times they were on trucks.
And two of the three times they were at universities.
Two of the three times they had to do with my social life.
Two of the three times they had to do with my academic life.
But three of the three times have all been after I have answered myself this question: Well, should I fucking do it, or what?
I don't know why, but at that moment I decided to text as many people as I could think of and ask what they were thinking at that moment. Responses:
"I love this video. I'm so happy."
"Grandpas are mean."
"I wonder why Martha Stewart never gets asked much about prison by talk show hosts."
"I'm sort of dating this guy. I'm thinking about him."
"Thinkin about talkin to this girl."
"Photography."
"What jewelry to wear to my wedding."
"I was thinking about setting Twitter up on my phone."
"Pizza."
"My grandpa was a drunk but I love him."
Does that have anything to do with anything?
Probably not.
But... I don't know.
I'm going to sleep.
Monday, April 6, 2009
A Small Discovery
The summer after I got out of the Ranch I made the only mistake I still regret. A video camera case full of old video tapes, tapes taken from 5th grade to my Junior year of high school, were stolen from the closet at my dad's house. I regret not protecting those tapes like my dear life depended on it. Growing up, I was always the kid with the video camera capturing every moment of my upbringing - from my first movies with action figures, to the first time Tony and I got caught smoking pot, to me running around my backyard on mushrooms - I tried to capture everything.
While I was at the Ranch, in order to graduate, we had to progress through a series of four different levels. To make it to the next level, we had to give a presentation reflecting the progression of our recovery. For my Level 4 presentation, I decided to edit together a movie of a typical high school night for me. From the old camera bag, I stumbled upon a tape of one single Friday night, recorded mostly from my perspective, though I do appear for a few seconds here and there...
Well, I was browsing through an old hard drive of mine tonight and came across that very video. It is the only existing footage from that bag of tapes. I was stunned in a way. I had forgotten how different things had been. I mean, there are friends of mine who are already dead in it. Gosh, it didn't even seem that long ago. The video starts off with my good friend Keegan and I, sitting in the room Robby and I shared at my dad's house. Robby and Jessica are playing Mario Kart. We leave to go to Gray's. Then Mike's. Robby gives me money to buy him liquor. Back to Gray's. We steal Robby's alcohol. Back to my house. Back to Gray's...
I think the most amazing part of the video is it shows the natural deterioration of the night. It starts off kind of fun, aside me being depressed about Jessica... but then everybody gets so fucked up they start yelling at each other. It's kind of sad, really. The whole video ends with my friend Scott giving a monologue, which he used to do a lot, and shows the backward-ass justification of why we all did what we did...
Anyway. I was kind of blown away. I thought I would share it with you. That's what blogs are for, after all, right? Anyway. Here you go:
While I was at the Ranch, in order to graduate, we had to progress through a series of four different levels. To make it to the next level, we had to give a presentation reflecting the progression of our recovery. For my Level 4 presentation, I decided to edit together a movie of a typical high school night for me. From the old camera bag, I stumbled upon a tape of one single Friday night, recorded mostly from my perspective, though I do appear for a few seconds here and there...
Well, I was browsing through an old hard drive of mine tonight and came across that very video. It is the only existing footage from that bag of tapes. I was stunned in a way. I had forgotten how different things had been. I mean, there are friends of mine who are already dead in it. Gosh, it didn't even seem that long ago. The video starts off with my good friend Keegan and I, sitting in the room Robby and I shared at my dad's house. Robby and Jessica are playing Mario Kart. We leave to go to Gray's. Then Mike's. Robby gives me money to buy him liquor. Back to Gray's. We steal Robby's alcohol. Back to my house. Back to Gray's...
I think the most amazing part of the video is it shows the natural deterioration of the night. It starts off kind of fun, aside me being depressed about Jessica... but then everybody gets so fucked up they start yelling at each other. It's kind of sad, really. The whole video ends with my friend Scott giving a monologue, which he used to do a lot, and shows the backward-ass justification of why we all did what we did...
Anyway. I was kind of blown away. I thought I would share it with you. That's what blogs are for, after all, right? Anyway. Here you go:
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
A Day From Weeks Ago
I was bored again tonight.
I called Corey. Nothing was going on. He said he'd call me back if he found something.
And I was depressed because I didn't do anything last night except sit alone in my apartment and record music.
I sometimes feel guilty for not calling my friends because I more-or-less base the decision of what I do on the odds of me meeting a girl.
I decided to go on a bike ride, which is becoming more and more common for me. I just can't sit around sometimes. I think it has to do with this crazy feeling that if I don't do new things I am not progressing. Why progressing is so important, though, I don't know.
I decided to go to Bookmans but it could have been anywhere. I just needed a destination.
I had a dream last night. It was me and Kyle, who I haven't dreamt about since the funeral. I can't remember what it was about. I just remember waking up at seven am. Seven am is the worst, because the sunlight was pours through the lines between my shades and makes my whole room loud and golden. I don't know if I'd mentioned it before, but as close as I've come, I still haven't cried about Kyle.
Mike called me today. None of you know Mike. It's just a name to you. But Mike is still like a brother to me, even if he is half-way dead. Mike introduced me to family crisis, to drugs, to heartache, to struggle, to a number 4 at Carls. Jr, to real companionship, to loyalty, to class differences, to being there for somebody, and to so many other things I can only explain in blips and phrases. He called me today, as he does occasionally, and he wanted to sell me a Dell computer gift card. He got it for free with his computer, which I know only because I helped him order it. But he must've forgotten that. He must've known he wasn't fooling me, that he wanted the money for heroin, and that he knows I know he is slowly killing himself, the way Kyle did, but in a much more seclusionary way. I told him I didn't know anyone who'd want to buy it. He called back twice: Once to ask if I was absolutely sure, and the third time he hung up before I had a chance to answer. I thought to myself, death is a very subjective term.
Note to self: There's nothing you can do.
Neil came into Beaver's today, and he punched his dad in the face today but he wouldn't tell me why. He helped customers even though he doesn't work there anymore. He talked about how he cried when D.L. died even though he was pretty sure D.L. hated him. He said how he wished he'd stayed in Flagstaff, and that he needs heart medication, and that the blue album by Weezer is the Pet Sounds of today, and continued to measure his life by albums, and I told him about my dream with Kyle, and on ... and on... and on...
And I was riding my bike to Bookmans. I was riding through the U of A mall, and "Narcolepsy," by Ben Folds Five, came on my iPod, and all the little links started to melt together, and they connected all at once... Neil and Flagstaff, and Flagstaff and Jessi, and Jessi and myself, Mike and me, and me and Kyle, and Kyle and the funeral, and the dream I had, and the recurring dreams Neil has, and Mike punching his dad in the face, and me standing there not knowing what to do, and Neil punching his dad in the face, and the mental hospital, and Rage Against the Machine, and Ben Folds Five, and Neil, and Flagstaff, and Jessi...
At that moment, I finally almost cried.
The trees just passed. I stared up. I thought to myself, god damn, the trees seem so far away until you see the sky.
When I got to Bookman's I bought three vinyl singles from artists I've never heard before. I was feeling impulsive, which seems to happen a lot these days.
Corey called and said he found something to do.
So I ride my bike back the way I came. Down Second avenue. To University. Stop by Jimmy Johns to see if Keegan is working... nope. Back onto Unversity. God, I'm a riding cliche.
But there I was again. Dead center, in the middle of the U of A mall and something hits me. From nowhere. Really. Jesus Christ, I am alive. I mean, I am ALIVE. Words are so limiting. How far have I come? You don't know. No, I'm serious. You really don't know. I'm trying to sum it up. I texted Jessi, who, depressingly, is still one of the only people who really gets me:
I just wanted to tell you...
I'm riding my bike through the u of a mall right NOW.
And I've Never been happier that I'm ME.
She called and said, "I've never seen you happier, Baby Joel!" A reference to Eternal Sunshine, which will always be our movie. "I wake up every day and tell myself that today is the day I'm going to fall in love again, " she told me a few weeks ago. Tonight, I asked her:
"Did you fall in love today?"
"No, did you?"
"Maybe for a second."
"With who?"
"Nobody."
"Oh! With what, then? Life?"
"Well, I don't want to sound that trite."
I got to the house Corey was at.
There were three girls, two dudes, me, Corey, and a beer pong table.
While the girls were racking their cups, I turned to Corey.
"Corey," I said, "I think I had an epiphany tonight."
"What?"
"I said, I was riding my bike, and listening to my music, and I don't know what it was, man, but I think I had an epiphany."
"Yeah," Corey said, and dipped his ball in the water cup, "I have lots of epiphanys when I'm bored."
I called Corey. Nothing was going on. He said he'd call me back if he found something.
And I was depressed because I didn't do anything last night except sit alone in my apartment and record music.
I sometimes feel guilty for not calling my friends because I more-or-less base the decision of what I do on the odds of me meeting a girl.
I decided to go on a bike ride, which is becoming more and more common for me. I just can't sit around sometimes. I think it has to do with this crazy feeling that if I don't do new things I am not progressing. Why progressing is so important, though, I don't know.
I decided to go to Bookmans but it could have been anywhere. I just needed a destination.
I had a dream last night. It was me and Kyle, who I haven't dreamt about since the funeral. I can't remember what it was about. I just remember waking up at seven am. Seven am is the worst, because the sunlight was pours through the lines between my shades and makes my whole room loud and golden. I don't know if I'd mentioned it before, but as close as I've come, I still haven't cried about Kyle.
Mike called me today. None of you know Mike. It's just a name to you. But Mike is still like a brother to me, even if he is half-way dead. Mike introduced me to family crisis, to drugs, to heartache, to struggle, to a number 4 at Carls. Jr, to real companionship, to loyalty, to class differences, to being there for somebody, and to so many other things I can only explain in blips and phrases. He called me today, as he does occasionally, and he wanted to sell me a Dell computer gift card. He got it for free with his computer, which I know only because I helped him order it. But he must've forgotten that. He must've known he wasn't fooling me, that he wanted the money for heroin, and that he knows I know he is slowly killing himself, the way Kyle did, but in a much more seclusionary way. I told him I didn't know anyone who'd want to buy it. He called back twice: Once to ask if I was absolutely sure, and the third time he hung up before I had a chance to answer. I thought to myself, death is a very subjective term.
Note to self: There's nothing you can do.
Neil came into Beaver's today, and he punched his dad in the face today but he wouldn't tell me why. He helped customers even though he doesn't work there anymore. He talked about how he cried when D.L. died even though he was pretty sure D.L. hated him. He said how he wished he'd stayed in Flagstaff, and that he needs heart medication, and that the blue album by Weezer is the Pet Sounds of today, and continued to measure his life by albums, and I told him about my dream with Kyle, and on ... and on... and on...
And I was riding my bike to Bookmans. I was riding through the U of A mall, and "Narcolepsy," by Ben Folds Five, came on my iPod, and all the little links started to melt together, and they connected all at once... Neil and Flagstaff, and Flagstaff and Jessi, and Jessi and myself, Mike and me, and me and Kyle, and Kyle and the funeral, and the dream I had, and the recurring dreams Neil has, and Mike punching his dad in the face, and me standing there not knowing what to do, and Neil punching his dad in the face, and the mental hospital, and Rage Against the Machine, and Ben Folds Five, and Neil, and Flagstaff, and Jessi...
At that moment, I finally almost cried.
The trees just passed. I stared up. I thought to myself, god damn, the trees seem so far away until you see the sky.
When I got to Bookman's I bought three vinyl singles from artists I've never heard before. I was feeling impulsive, which seems to happen a lot these days.
Corey called and said he found something to do.
So I ride my bike back the way I came. Down Second avenue. To University. Stop by Jimmy Johns to see if Keegan is working... nope. Back onto Unversity. God, I'm a riding cliche.
But there I was again. Dead center, in the middle of the U of A mall and something hits me. From nowhere. Really. Jesus Christ, I am alive. I mean, I am ALIVE. Words are so limiting. How far have I come? You don't know. No, I'm serious. You really don't know. I'm trying to sum it up. I texted Jessi, who, depressingly, is still one of the only people who really gets me:
I just wanted to tell you...
I'm riding my bike through the u of a mall right NOW.
And I've Never been happier that I'm ME.
She called and said, "I've never seen you happier, Baby Joel!" A reference to Eternal Sunshine, which will always be our movie. "I wake up every day and tell myself that today is the day I'm going to fall in love again, " she told me a few weeks ago. Tonight, I asked her:
"Did you fall in love today?"
"No, did you?"
"Maybe for a second."
"With who?"
"Nobody."
"Oh! With what, then? Life?"
"Well, I don't want to sound that trite."
I got to the house Corey was at.
There were three girls, two dudes, me, Corey, and a beer pong table.
While the girls were racking their cups, I turned to Corey.
"Corey," I said, "I think I had an epiphany tonight."
"What?"
"I said, I was riding my bike, and listening to my music, and I don't know what it was, man, but I think I had an epiphany."
"Yeah," Corey said, and dipped his ball in the water cup, "I have lots of epiphanys when I'm bored."
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