I have been in New York City for round about two weeks now. Before that I was in the godforsaken wasteland where I from, which is some bumfuck podunk shithole in Northern Virginia. I saw my family and felt real weird about everything. I don’t know if I’ll ever go back again except to see my grandmother. She is old and tired now, and has her own apartment in something that I would classify as two or three steps up from an assisted living facility. What do you call that? A retirement home? She has a miniature kitchen and a living room and a bedroom and a big bathroom. If I were 91 years old and the sort of person who had no choice but to keep on living (I hope to be neither), I guess that’s the sort of place I would want to end up. Though in reality I will, several or many years from now, find an abandoned gothic castle in some forgotten place in Europe and live there in a tattered kimono and a purple velvet robe and my leather jacket that they will bury me in in Antarctica.

Uh, anyway: about New York City. . . .

I have stayed with my friends Tim and Jenny. It was real fun at first, but for the past two or three days I have noticed my body is deteriorating from the inside out, and I must go home so that I can be alone and sleep for 14 or 15 hours. I will do this on Saturday I think, when I will still be alone, since Kerwin is far away in North Carolina. I am so exhausted from walking 10 miles a day in 11 degree weather where the cold wind cuts through my denim jacket like a thousand god dang razor blades. My skin is dry and I feel old. Even now I know I should sleep, what with it being five in the morning, and having slept worse and worse by orders of magnitude since I got here. I think that I am sad because I cannot be alone here, even though I like my friends very much and want to be around them, since I don’t get to see them a whole lot. And then there’s the quiet catastrophe that I am certain is real . . . by which I mean the little white pills I have taken on and off for six years to keep me from going absolutely insane. They are for sure waning in their effectiveness. I am terrified of what it will mean when they finally do nothing at all. I don’t think they’ve done anything to me since I got here. Lord . . . if they don’t start working again when I get home then I must prepare for the disaster that will follow. You and me and everyone else who visits this back alley of the internet will bear witness to it if when that comes to pass.

Maybe I should go to sleep now so that I don’t wake up feeling like a rained-on duffel bag full of shredded newspaper and vampire turds. Maybe also there is no way around it. Well, what the hell can you do man! My skeleton is rattled, and god knows I love that thing, so I guess I will give it a soft place to heal.

Yeah. There you go. I’ll be back soon, and boy do I have a lot of senseless trash to put here. It’s got to go somewhere. That’s the lie I tell myself anyway.

Here an intentionally overwrought image of my face that I suppose an American teenager might publish:

ryan starsailor ☆彡
02 january 2018
05:13 am EST
brooklyn, new york
stupid / tired / at eternity’s gate

(this strange website
greets you this evening.
all is well. good-night.)