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| There Ain't No Justice |
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| #113 |
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- Going Crazy in the Suburbs 10: -
"Some People Will Never See Beauty"
by Hairy
twelve thousand different faces
alike in their unfamiliarity
alike in their emotionless gaze
i want to walk out into the sea
let the waves consume me
devour me
i just don't want to come back
never come back
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very depressed. very lonely.
lost my job two weeks ago. i suppose i should have written sooner and told you
all about it, but i've been walllowing through too many things lately..
i've been sleeping fourteen hours a day, sleeping through the daylight hours,
awake until sunrise.. vodka & idle computer things, books & movies.. pushing
everyone - everyone - out of my life..
in my own special way, i guess i've pushed you away, too. i could have
written, or stopped by, even. i was in pennsylvania the other day.. i just
drove and drove.. 300 miles through strange little pennsylvanian towns.
sleeping in the car..
jill's crept back into my life to some extent. i demonstrated to her the
difference between "up" and "down", and now she's out again.
nancy was just here, she got here last night after the nitzer ebb show at the
limelight. i didn't look at her, haven't looked at her - just went to sleep.
we woke up about 1pm, she wanted me to be happy happy, fun fun fun. i laid on
the floor with a hat covering my face, and all i kept saying was, "i'm sorry."
she finally left..
i keep forgetting to eat. i've lost weight, i think. i seem much leaner. this
is a good thing, at least i can be content with my appearance as i deteriorate
into nothingness.
my life is a merry-go-round of disaster.
i should write a resume, but i don't have enough energy. i'm feeling very
apathetic.
jim should be here before the week is over with my lsd. i told him i wanted to
experiment, wanted to have bad bad trips and scare myself. told him i wanted
to see what i'd write about.. told him i just wanted another escape from
reality, but we'd ignore that bit for the time being.
well.
nothing much to say..
i hope things are better for you than they are for me.
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wrote a resume the other day (4 am). it's horrible, but i'm going to have to
live with it.
listening to the cranes. staring at this old taco bell garbage. smelling
jill's sex all over me.
i guess we both know what i've been up to.
my relatives are up from florida (!?!) visiting. my brother, his wife, two
kids. he's in his mid thirties, i guess. they got here two days ago. i haven't
seen them yet, i've been avoiding them.. slinking around the house, only going
out of my room in the middle of the night..
i don't know him, you know? just because we both came out of the same hole
doesn't mean we have to be best friends.
my contacts are getting blurry.
i'm never going to meet anyone at a club who interests me. i guess i've
realized this (finally), and that's why i've stopped going out. the whole
thing disgusts me.
blah, blah, blah.
jesus, i need a haircut.
unemployment is awful. i have to actually budget my money. i can't stand it.
if i don't have $100-$150 to spend on absolute *trash* each week, i don't know
what to do with myself.
i just wish i could afford a haircut.
foo.
where's jim, anyway? where're my drugs?
been listening to george thorogood lately. that "one bourbon, one scotch, one
beer" song has some sort of a hypnotic effect over me.
i always mix up effect & affect. hmm.
walked past some bar last night at the beach, and realized that this time next
year, i'll probably be propped up on one of those stools. mmm.
have a nice day.
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imagine that, you coming to visit me..
i've got sunburn. how ungoth. i went plodding around old war derelicts at
sandy hook.
the sperm bank thing turned out to be a joke, sorry. i took it as a joke to
begin with, but i figured - - hey, the work's not hard, i do it already, and i
may as well get paid for it..
hope you find a use for the ENCLOSED ENVELOPE.
my relatives are still here, i'm still dodging them.
i haven't looked at the alien thing yet, but i will. i remember hearing about
them somewhere, but i never found out more. i always confuse them with some
skateboard company called "alien workshop".
so, what's chet's new job? and if he's got a job, why's he want to masturbate
for money..? aren't you woman enough for him? didn't he like the pierced
tongue..?
tee-hee-hee.
i'm broke as all hell. i've been eating cheese & crackers. ack, ack, ack.
i don't go out to clubs near as much as you think. not nearly..
i need to steal a better printer. this thing is horrible.
i finally wrote my resume, but i can't print the thing out on this bastard
printer. it looks awful. i have to drive up to brookdale community college
(where i stole this computer from) and pretend to be a student for awhile so i
can use a decent printer. i should've been able to go use the printer at work,
but.. of course.. i don't work there anymore.
feels like my eyes are going to fall out.
too damned hot. i've had the air-conditioning on for the past three days, 24
hours a day..
i''ve lost lots of weight. i love it. i think i'm going to be poor more often.
you should try it sometime, it's lots of fun.
you shouldn't be finding men you're interested it, be they 27 year old
brooklynites or not, considering you have a significant other. shame, shame..
my kingdom for a haircut.
went and saw "party girl" the other night with jill. what an experience. the
story about sysiphus (syphilis?) was the best part.
sunburn is a bad thing.
jill & i seem to be getting more friendly. this is fine, we've been trading
"guess who i fucked" stories. i just don't want whatever it was that happened
last time to happen again.
then again, i enjoy sex with her.. she did this entertaining thing with ice
cubes earlier..
mmmm.
maybe i should finally mail this letter..
it'll please you to know that making this black envelope was my last real duty
as a $7.35/hr record store worker. you see how much i slave over you?
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hello
drunk and miserable
back to normal
back to reality
happy birthday
young man
young man
hours twist away into liquid
into indistinguishable frowns
of disapproval
years speckle the walls
time spent idle
time wasted
closeted hopes and dreams
smashed
thrown aside
what does it matter in the end
when all is said
and little is done
mocking faces in the darkness
haunting my dreams
scarring my soul
no peace
no rest
no salvation
just madness
and alcohol
and degradation
this is reality
this is life
this is the all there is
anywhere
anything
anyone
please
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6 am, driving down the highway, and i came across this woman. tight white
shorts, long hair, nice figure.
i drove around the block so that i could pass by her.
she just stood there, looking at me.
i went around the block again, waved as i passed by.
she smiled down into the car, opened the door, got in.
we drove off.
i found a secluded spot behind the local elk's club. gave her $20, unzipped my
pants.
i made her stop halfway through, and told her i wanted to kiss her.
"i don't usually do that kind of thing," she said, and we kissed.
she went back to work.
i was very kind, gentle. stroking her hair and face very softly - almost as a
lover would.
she finished and we drove off.
i drove her to 8th street, cheap welfare apartments. she had to find some girl
who owed her money.
she had told me that she'd pay me $5 to drive her around.
we didn't find her, but we picked up pam, a big black girl. very loud. very
obnoxious.
we went over to the riviera.
"crack street," she called it.
i let them out, parked, waited.
they knocked on a few doors, then disappeared around the corner.
after a few minutes, she came running back to the car, crying.
"that nigger bitch" she said, "she stole my money."
two or three people came out of the motel.
she got back into the car, still crying. two people from the motel somehow got
in the backseat.
i drove them all 20 minutes out of town, down to where she lived.
got there, pulled up to the curb, stopped. they all got out.
"wait here for them" she said, and they all went inside.
i waited maybe one, two minutes.
i got out of there, back on the highway.
i was more than generous, i thought, driving these strangers around for more
than forty-five minutes.
i left them there, in that blue and white mobile home. in awhile, they'd just
be memories.
for all of my kindness and generosity, i was just another piece of flesh
between her lips.
some people will never see beauty.
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i talked to jim last night
we traded relationship woes
told him about you & chet & frank ad nauseum
he wants to meet you
jim's never met a really kinky woman
poor jim
he hasn't moved yet
i guess it's ok to ignore him
i wonder what you think
when you unfold the crumples
and read it all out
stumbling over misspelled words
and horrible typos
wonder
what you see
in between
all those lines
my head hurts
i'm never going to find anyone interesting here
i told jim last night
that 98% of the peope in the world
were boring
or was it 99%?
i can't quite remember
and then i told him
that the ones who were interesting
either had a penis
(which is fine, i told him)
or are so fucked up in relationships
that it isn't worth the time investigating
i don't know what i'm doing
jim said he wanted to find that girl
that made him want to go on living
said he found them before,
a few of them,
but it went away
after awhile
i told him jill was like that
she made me want to live
until
that one day
when it all
just went away
i don't know what happened
i told him
i was tired of looking
for people like that
i didn't explain
but i think we both knew
that wanting to live
comes from somewhere inside
he's got a way of being funny
told him i wanted support
a companion, maybe
i reflected
i guess i want a wife
it sure sounds that way
stupid
stupid moron
look at yourself
how old are you?
stop being so old
stop being so dead
stop
being
so
damned
stupid
why don't you do like you're told?
go out
get drunk
get fucked
get high
get wasted
get happy
ha ha ha ha ha
get happy
and just cruise along
into oblivion
you stupid
little child
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intoxication
drunken fingers
in the dark
in the light
in the nothing
ash
and
disintegration
grated memories
grated fear
save me
save me from this
this abyss
this drunken slumber
pain and love
rain down upon me
thoughts falling out of my head
fingers
not working
hahahahahahahah
can't stand it
can't stand it
hallucination
see the escape
see the humanity
of
drowned veins
haze
smoke
whirl
let me out of this
this reality
this space
this world
i'm above this
i'm an entire world above this
a form you'll never know
save $1
on swined conversation
on drink
on stupor
people will never care
if i live or die
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try to unscramble it all
thoughts and feelings crammed into
overused phrases
jumbled lettering
misspent years
alienated child in the ink
in the spotted isolation
held transfixed by laughing stares
eyes and mouths in motion
somehow always saying,
"it's your fault."
comatose time slips past
keep waiting for the soul to mend itself
all covered over
scars
puss-filled blisters
missing pieces
none of this makes sense
none of this makes sense
none of this makes sense
pouring alcohol into something
some darkness
some hole whittled out by fear
saliva and stale vomit
still caked in the corners of your mouth
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i never knew your last name until the other day when you left that message.
odd..
on a whim this past morning i shuffled off to the library and browsed through
"the 1995 poet's market book." i looked at this, mainly, because they didn't
have "the 1995 people-who-just-write-bad-letters market book." i found a few
places that i'm probably going to start sending stuff to. probably just
photocopies of all this shit in my drawer, scraps of things..
well, it's not exactly a job, but it's something to do for five minutes every
once in awhile.
mmm.
i pushed jill out of my life two weeks ago, and tonight i went and visited
nancy. she called earlier in the day and kept nagging me to visit her. i
didn't really want to see her, but she kept at it, so.. i got up there and
laid on the floor and listened to her whining about her social life. when she
was done, i told her something along the lines of, "your social life disgusts
me." this wasn't meant in a bad way or anything, it's just the honest truth.
her social life really does disgust me.
at any rate, she got all bitchy over it. "fine," i said, "i'll leave." she
asked me why i had come to see her in the first place, so, being a good boy
scout, i told her the truth. "because you kept nagging me," i said. this,
apparently, didn't set too well either.
i just laid there on the floor. she smoked a cigarette. after awhile, she went
into another room. she came back in, threw a book at me. damned thing hit me
in the stomach, hurt quite a bit. i said something like, "jesus christ,
whore!" and threw the thing back at her. i was overcome with this intense
desire to beat the shit out of her. instead, i got up and left.
ironically enough, it was charles bukowski's "women" that she had thrown at
me. she borrowed it from me, and i guess she was trying to give it back..
i drove into the city and set out to find a bottle of stolichnaya vodka, but
it was already pretty late and all the liquor stores were closed. i wandered
around st.mark's place for awhile, then drove home.
here i am now, home.
there was a message on my machine from her, it said something like this: "if
everything disgusts you so much, why don't you just shoot yourself?"
several points leapt to mind:
..her cheesy social life in no way constitutes "everything". ..she's the one
with the suicidal problems, not me. (tried two or three times.) ..bullets
aren't stylish. i'd try and do it stylishly if it were my last act. ..she's
very fucking teenage, and i don't know why i let myself sink that low.
well, anyway.. i think i've succeeded in getting her out of my life, too. i
certainly hope so..
alone again, alone again, yippity-yippity.
on the lighter side: i haven't had sex in over a month. masturbation is a
poor, poor replacement. i'm going to see about going out this weekend and
finding something to fuck.
in reality, though, i don't even want that. i don't care about all the hot,
sweaty mechanics of it. what i really want is the part that comes after -
laying around in bed, naked, content, happy. holding each other. gentle
kisses. light touches. stroking hair. falling asleep together..
i sound like a woman, jesus. using sex to get love, and all that.
jim still hasn't gotten me my damned lsd, but he did find me some mushrooms.
here's to a mind altering experience..
hope you're ok.. wonder why you put up with me.. etc..
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- it's sunday, i think.
jim never got my mushrooms. jim's kind of unreliable like that.. i haven't
been back to the city to fetch alcohol, either, but my mother shocked & amazed
me by driving off to yonder liquor store and getting me some. how odd..
anyway, my stepbrother is here with his tart girlfriend. they're sitting out
on the couch in the living room. he's a redneck bastard. i've avoided him for
the past.. oh.. five years or so? the last time i really associated with him,
i tried to strangle him to death. he's just that kind of person.
depeche my mode, baby.
started talking to some girl, jessica. she got kicked out of cornell, failed
out. she was pursuing too many.. shall we say, extracurricular activities? the
only things we've talked about are sex, which is fine with me. cheap,
entertaining, burns calories..
my life reminds me of a sister's of mercy lyric. (i'm such a little gothboy,
aren't i?) that line, "and the women come and go." well, mostly they just go,
but..
cough, cough, cough.
only another.. what.. twenty weeks of "vacation" to go..
i need to steal a better printer. jesus christ. i hate this thing.
i made the mistake of going to the mall today, trying to escape my
stepbrother. what a bad idea. people everywhere.. everywhere.. thousands of
them.. i just couldn't deal with it. all that noise, kids screaming.. the
faces, the happy happy smiling faces.. "i love you, frank!" "oh, mary! i love
you!".. overstuffed asses crammed into pastel colored tents.. it was just too
much. i had to piss, i had to get to a bathroom and piss and get out of there,
but i couldn't. i just couldn't take it. i found the exit, got outside, got
back to the car. i sat there in the front seat and pissed in a spring water
container, and sat it on the ground. it was really that bad.
i fucked up and couldn't go to the batcave - again. this is the second week in
a row i've wanted to go, but couldn't. this time, i had been awake for sixteen
hours before, and was dead tired. i slept six hours, got up to get dressed and
go out. it was pouring rain, a monsoon. it had been raining for eight hours or
so, i think. i started to wonder if i had left my car windows down.. sure
enough, puddles in the front seat. i had some toast and went back to sleep for
another eight hours.
cough, cough, cough.
i cough like a smoker now, for no apparent reason. i'm not sick.. i just don't
understand.
this letter is so completely empty, i'm sorry.
i wonder when you'll throw out all the things i've written you. it's got to
happen, sooner or later. one day, one of us will run out of things to say, and
the other won't pursue the matter.. and that'll be it. or, maybe you'll throw
a god damned bukowski book at my head, i'll call you a whore, and we'll hate
each other. i guess you never know..
i can never figure out if i'm alone by choice or not. i suppose i am, being
i'm the one who drives everyone away.. but it never seems like that. it always
feels like i've been left, i've been forgotten about.
compassion doesn't exist, you know. it just doesn't exist..
etc.
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