i'll find you and i'll kill you

song and illustration chad vangaalen from his new album soft rotation




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keery is downstairs drunk and sitting on the couch with the lights off. everyone has gone to bed. i have left him a loaf of bread and a red plastic cup of water. he asked me to turn the lights off when i left.

***

i want to publish things very badly. i want to be able to link to something and say that this link leads you to my work. i want to comfortable with the term 'my work' and i want to be able to use it in sentences casually so people can know that 'my work' is a casual and normal to my existence as a writer.

i am very aware of my chest as a cavity right now. there is a hole in my belly and all the air is rushing out.

there is something in my skin that is crawling, crawling, crawling. i am typing this from a bare mattress in my room while looking as a fetus holding my knees. i would like to be held and to suckle some unknown teat. please, someone please put a teat in my mouth. i would like an unknown teat in my mouth. this would bring me some kind of motherly comfort.

yesterday i was at a wedding and on the back of a paper i wrote a story about marta floating away on a storm in her apartment in mexico city. when she landed she was on the beach in acapulco. i left it in a bin for the married couple. i hate married things. i don't like marriage. i feel afraid when asked about it.

i feel my balance of power is shifting in life. i feel that the power i claimed before and felt was mine and that defined my identity is changing. there is a certain shedding happening and however feverishly i rant on how it is natural to change, i cringe at how i have dealt with shifts in power before. this is something that has been happening over the course of this week.

i should have some real and constructive things to say.

there is no beer in this house.
i have no way of getting drunk now.
i would like to 'get fucked up'
i would like to join kerry downstairs eating bread in the dark.

i will be largely unhappy

inside of my new apartment i feel mostly unailve. it is true: i move around, i pick things up, i touch things and then think about touching them. these things make noises. i have only been here two nights and already i have taken to laying on my bed and staring at the ceiling fan spinning. i try to write things and i try to capture my lethargy. but i am not moved to do so.

i recently read connor o'brien's last post and i thought it was amazing. and i thought 'yes okay, i will write something right now. i will something very true and funny and it will not hurt when it comes out'. and i tried and i thought what i was writing was stupid and i didn't want to finish it and it hurt, everything hurt. i laid down again and stared at the ceiling fan.

earlier this afternoon i drove to my parents and found it empty. i thought i would mow the lawn to give me something to do. when i looked it was already mowed. i felt lost and purposeless. i went back inside and i turned on the television and tried not to feel sad. one channel was frozen on a still image of martin luther king, jr. speaking. i tried for as long as i could to stare at this picture of this good man and feel something good. i tried very much but i was soon bored. he was not moving. he was not speaking. he was dead. i was dead. i was very alone in the house by myself. i changed the channel and watched a movie with a young nick nolte.

i drank a generic bottle of Ensure ("Equate") and imagined that i had eaten an entire dinner. i went back to my house where i just moved 0ut of and found paper and things on the floor. very odd things. i thought about how there will always be odd things laying around a house that someone has just moved out of: bottle caps, taco bell paper, cell phone chargers, nails, markers, loose change. i peeled the bathroom drip mat off the ground and a cockroach skittled away. i sat down and started playing my guitar. i did it energetically like it was serious. i looked at my finger and noticed the battery acid burn i have on my finger. it has a funny scab now.

i went back to the house and tried to check my e-mail. the internet was down. i have to work. i said, i will get things done and then i will go to work. i will organize everything. i cannot function when things are not organized. if my house is unorganized i cannot read or play music or talk on the phone. i must clean first.

i cannot clean anything because it is hot. if i start to clean i will get hot. then i wil be uncomfortable cleaning. then i will not be able to finish cleaning. then i will not be able to get anything real done. then when i go to work, i will be largely unhappy.
i will be largely unhappy.
i will be largely unhappy.
i will be largely unhappy.
i will be largely unhappy.
i will be largely unhappy.
i will be largely unhappy.
i will be largely unhappy.
i will be largely unhappy.
i will be largely unhappy.
i will be largely unhappy.
i will be largely unhappy.
i will be largely unhappy.

The name of this post is: myroommateisafucking.dick.becauseiamstrandedonthesideoftheroadandheistooself-involvedtoleavethebarsihavebeenherefor3hours

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