08 November 2018

my spirit-brother tim rogers:

Let me tell you about my life. Life is long. If you’ve ever felt bored or impatient even for a moment at a bank or a post office, your life is long. The only way life can be too short is if you die in the middle of doing something you love doing. Many bad experiences in my life so far have been interesting. For some of them, I learned a lesson. The rest, however, taught me nothing. Not even a couple of those interesting bad experiences so far in my life have been experiences I could not do without.

07 November 2018

Well for GOD’S SAKE I superglued my fucking stomach back together yesterday. The feat was almost as impressive as the disaster that lead to it needing repairing in the first place. I’m serious as a heart attack, man. The human body splits open like a beached whale when you least expect it, and all you gotta do is squeeze the wound shut (providing it has smooth edges), and squirt a little glue over top of it and, hey presto, you got yourself a homemade suture. Coupled with a saline solution to sterilize the wound, the whole procedure took about two minutes and cost me a whole five US dollars. As far as me developing a severe gangrene infection that kills me dead in my sleep: it’s still a “wait and see” sort of thing.

The only good news I have to report is that I was able to get my old midnight gig back at the Wolfhound, so I’ll be working the door at least one night a week. That’s what they told me anyway, but god knows they say a lot of things. I am ON-CALL the rest of the week, and I have told my doormen-brothers that I can be outside on that stool with a book in my hand checking IDs until 1:45 a.m. with even an hour’s notice. What the hell else am I going to do with myself? Hide under my comforter and cry? That act is getting old! I’m done with it. (Or is it done with me . . . ?)

It went like this: I went to work, and several people asked me if I was sick. I looked really bad, you see. I still look bad. I haven’t shaved in five days, which I almost never do (because of how bad it looks), and my hair is especially greasy and my skin is especially pale, which makes the black stubble growing out of my face look all the more horrifying. I have something of a black eye and medical tape hanging out of my T-shirt, which depicts album art from a band you like when you’re 15 years old. That’s not too far off par for me, but it’s enough of an amplification of my overall grubbiness that people felt concerned enough to say something about it. Man, if only they knew!

Well: So I was driving real fast down San Pablo to get home to glue my flesh together, god help me, and I saw this tall-ass Frenchman behind the bar at Wolfhound. I mean I was driving by and the door was open and I saw this poor bastard in there! I had been looking for him for some time, since he runs the place, and I’m broke as hell and need something to do at night, so I figured I’d run it by the big man to see if I could get some shifts to change my fortune a little bit . . . or at least not have to pay for my drinks at all anymore! So I swung the car around hard and parked right out front. I went inside and approached this man.

He was all about it. He still had my number in his phone and everything. I love this guy, I really do. He’s beautiful. I’m back on the roster. The other doormen, my brothers, they know me, and so they seem excited to be able to take a night off or whatever, now that I’m around to pick up the pieces for them beneath the dim glow of the neon signs!

I wonder at night still: Who will love me when all the neon is gone?

Anyway: Tonight I have to fortify Kermit the Frog’s coffin with velour or velvet or something. It needs to be beautiful, and it is not yet beautiful enough. Mitch and I are going to take a saw to it, and make it a little smaller, and maybe smoothe it out a bit. It’ll be a real thing when it’s done, which is hopefully by tonight because the damn funeral is on Saturday. I hope this thing isn’t a colossal failure. Apparently a lot of people are coming. The person I want to come the most isn’t. Whoops!

I’m out of good news. I just had the one thing. Now I need to turn my phone off and finish preparing for a puppet frog’s funeral . . . said the full-grown man with the superglued stomach!!!!

What I wouldn’t give for some god damn relief! To be held! To be talked to!

Well . . . seeya!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

07 November 2018

laura rokas had a dream that i died in a car accident and came back without a soul, and she was the only person who knew this. in her dream she realized it was her duty to kill me to get me to peace because nobody else was going to. you can’t walk around without a soul, after all.

this morning i asked laura to kill me, on account of some wishful thinking that her dream was a premonition, or some such thing. she has refused! my little sister has also refused to kill me. what gives???

i’m on my hands here in the dark, man! i’m pleading with you, unseen silent joker: kill me!

is the universe a factory that creates experience-gathering machines? do we exist to be shot out into space to gather as many experiences and feelings as we can during an average human lifetime and then . . . return to the source? to be reshaped and shot out again? to gather even more experiences? to an end we are wholly, cruelly unaware of?

am i one of the experience-gathering machines that broke on the assembly line? did i just break down along the way? or was i broken intentionally in order to gather worse experiences than some of the other machines around me?

can i go back to the source already??

can you retire me from service, for god’s sake???

i don’t wanna come back here again, that’s for sure. . . .

kill me!

•   •   •

humans do all kinds of things during their lifetime, right?

discovering things, building things. . . .

things like houses, motorcycles, bridges, cities and rockets. . . .

all that knowledge and energy. . . . where do you suppose it comes from?

humans were like monkeys once, right?

and before that, like reptiles and fish.

and before that, plankton and amoebas.

even creatures like those have incredible energy inside them.

and even before that, maybe there was energy in the water and the air.

even in space dust too, i bet.

if that’s true, what memories are hidden in it?

if all the energy in the universe came from one point, will it go back there again?

and if does, S, will you be there waiting for me?

06 November 2018

i have to superglue myself back together tonight, and then i’m going to the gym, for god’s sake, just to feel like i did something halfway healthy with myself in the last month. i can’t stand that place at all, though hell, i figure as long as i keep my head down and sweat a whole lot, i might come out the other end of the thing feeling at least a little better about myself. (whoa: the first time i wrote that sentence, i typo’d “feeling a little better about myself” as “a feeling a little bitter about myself.” hah! i suppose both things are possible, and probable even, what with it being me and all. . . .)

beneath my sweatshirt: the black KMFDM t-shirt i covered my scars with half my lifetime ago, when i was 15 years old and wrecked over a whole mess of things that are pretty much identical to the disasters i’m navigating through now. i went to school with my chest all sliced up and bloody, and so on, and feeling very alone with everything, and no end in sight. now i am twice as old and very little has changed for me. the psychic pain i can feel inside my head is nothing compared to the sadness i experience when acknowledging this fact. yikes.

o, spirit! help me. i really could go for a little relief right about now. i’m stupid, and sometimes i’m kind of a jerk, but for god’s sake please don’t leave me all alone down here!