‘Takiyasha the Witch and the Skeleton Spectre,’ Utagawa Kuniyoshi

Posting this again because it rules

I like Stanley Kubrick. I like the films he made when he was alive. I never, ever want to have a conversation about them with someone who tucks their shirt in—or maybe with anyone at all.

Similarly: At the New Year’s party I was at the other night, I quickly exited the room when a bunch of people who get their hair cut once a week started talking about the new ‘Star Wars.’ What little I did hear sounded like it was regurgitated from a Huffington Post article and it made me really sad.

At 11 a.m. on New Year’s Day I opened my eyes. My eyes had been closed because the sun was up and the room was bright. I had not slept the night before. I had been lying on the couch at my grandmother’s condo. I was alone. She doesn’t live there anymore.

I stood up. I made a pot of tea. I filled the bathtub with hot water. I sank into the water until I could only use my nose to breathe. My laptop was resting on the closed toilet seat nearby. ‘Return of the Jedi’ was playing. I watched the whole movie from the bath. The water got tepid. I got out.

At sundown I got in my grandmother’s car and drove through the countryside. I was listening to Big Star. I drove all over the place. I drove past all the houses I’d ever lived in in Virginia.

Outside it was very cold. I parked on a gravel road near my childhood home. I thought about walking through the empty cornfields. When I got out of the car I realized it was too cold. I wasn’t wearing my thermals. I got back in the car. I drove down dark silent streets surrounded by dark silent trees. I wondered where everyone had gone off to.

I stopped at a grocery store and bought a loaf of bread, two bottles of cheap champagne, and a jug of orange juice. The orange juice had pulp in it because I think it’s creepy not to drink pulp. When I got to the register I placed everything on the conveyor belt. I said to the cashier, “This is what I have become.” I told her I was going to make mimosas and sit by a fire. She laughed and said that sounded perfectly nice to her.

I drove back to my grandmother’s condo. Dante was asleep on a chair near the fireplace. I opened the flue. I crumpled some paper and placed it beneath a log. I lit the paper on fire. The paper burned. The fireplace was illuminated. I went into the kitchen and mixed orange juice with champagne. I sat down by the fire and got drunk. I read a book. I tried to sleep. I couldn’t sleep. I thought about someone far away.

this is me when i was a little kid

this is also me for the rest of my life if you know what i mean

I have no real marketable skills, but at least I don’t breathe heavily or walk around with my mouth open.

frans masereel

My problem with Hell is . . . are you really going to punish people who just came from Earth?

My grandmother is my good friend. She is 89 years old and she doesn’t want to be alive anymore.

My other good friend lives alone in an apartment in Chicago. I don’t think she wants to be alive anymore either.

Otherwise who knows.

Nokesville, Virginia, 2:00 a.m.: Two hours into the New Year, driving in total silence I passed a dead black cat laying in the middle of a long lonely stretch of road where no moonlight shone.