Sex is disgusting and sad
What a god damn screaming carnival of mutant dogshit this place is
I have been twenty-six years old for two hours and nine minutes
A year ago today my girlfriend got mad at me and I went on a bike ride by myself and came home and listened to War Elephant
Tonight my friends came to see me at my house and sat around by the fire
Tracey made me a cake
Ryan bought me a six-pack
Neil gave me a hug
A girl I barely know came into my bedroom and played with my cat
Sometimes a man, feeling like a hot tube of stupid pathetic meat, stands in a hollowed-out crater of his own self-loathing and says to the universe, “Yeah OK”
Every single god darn night of my life I sit down at my desk to work on one of the many dozens of projects I haven’t been able to finish in six months. And I’ll do a little bit of writing and stare at it and hate it and stand up and fall backwards onto my bed. And then I think, “Well, I really don’t want to be doing anything, period. In fact I’d rather be dead.”
At a bar in Berkeley last night I watched a bunch of grad students sing and flail their bodies around in a way that just made me feel god damn awful. I was sitting alone at the end of the bar holding some shitty beer and I remembered that in one week I will be twenty-six years old.
A lady leaned over and said, “You OK, man?”
And I said, “No. I’m too cynical for this place.”
“Me too. But we’ll always have our dark corner.” She turned away.
I sat there for a few more minutes watching white people pretend to have the time of their lives and decided then that, as a birthday present to myself, I’m going to fly to Nashville in early February and face total annihilation.
I remember one night in Austin I was listening to a song I really liked and a girl came over and I liked her too and when I tried to have her listen to the song she said she didn’t want to
What do you want
What do you god damn animals want from me
Let me lie here
Let me die here
Let me eat my god damn microwaveable popcorn
I was biking home around midnight from some place called The Beer Garden on Telegraph . . . people I barely know had invited me, and I went along because I thought maybe something strange would happen to me.
Nothing happened. I probably sounded like a bitter jerk who doesn’t like anything. I sat there at a picnic table wearing my stupid scarf and drinking a beer that was so bad it made me angry.
But at midnight . . . midnight, midnight . . . I turned onto my street feeling rotten as hell and I flew past a group of people and I swear I heard a guy shout at me: “When’d you lose your mind, man?”
And I thought, jesus, they’re really going to kill me one of these days.
Make it sooner than later, I thought.
Lose my mind? When?
“Ten god damn years ago!” I should have said. Instead I said nothing. I’m not even sure if he was real.
I want to say to the Grim Reaper, “What’s it like to be you?”
And I’ll bet that big bastard would bend over and get right in my face
He’d open his mouth wide and release the screams of a billion lost souls writhing in the terrible darkness of eternity
And then he’d stand up and wipe the bile off his chin and we’d go for a walk