ok i know what my apartment in austin is going to look like

i would rather go to a job interview and tell them that i am a serial killer than tell them i am “detail-oriented”

and i’ll say it again: i would rather have a police record than a linkedin dot com profile

you want to take everything good about this world, and what it means to talk to people and work with and for them, and so on, and turn it into THIS

for god’s SAKE, people

you know when the elders prophesied the coming of the star sailor—that great big worthless idiot from space who would nonetheless befriend mankind and be good at parallel parking—i don’t think they knew that son of a bitch was going to be an edge-walking pariah with a credit card balance.

this world just ain’t gotta let me out of its jaws until it has completely crushed me into a pulpy mass of once-was, huh.

man! i don’t take things personally when it comes to the indifferent universe and all its chaos, because they don’t give a shit at all, and god love them for it—but i can’t help but take it personally when a human shreds me like newspaper for no good reason. you really do have to navigate this place knowing that there’s no reward waiting for you at the red light. you have to do good and thoughtful things for your own sake, to keep your own sanity, because as long as i have been here i have known that you will almost never be afforded the same courtesy. i have so many holes in my history and they all wear human faces. i miss those faces. as selfish as it sounds i can’t help but wonder if i’m a ryan-faced hole to someone else. and do they miss me too?

yes

“and though the news was rather sad
well i just had to laugh”

yeah

well, i don’t know how i managed to do this, but i got a short-term lease on a studio apartment in austin and it’s four blocks from my old house.

I am certain that to some extent this is true for every upright-walking man-ape who has ever lived, but here it is: There is so much godawful irony in my life that if I didn’t laugh like hell about it I think I might go insane.

one of the metrics i use for gauging if i like a band is “ok so how lame are their fucking publicity photos”

you know i disagree with a lot of the things my little sister wrote about me, mostly because i don’t like compliments (or can’t take them anyway), and probably have low self-esteem, but it is very sweet that someone could possibly think so many nice things about you.

if i were to write a similar sort of essay for my sister, or any of my close friends, it would be an enormous undertaking and i would probably die before i could finish it. that’s what all my letters are for i guess. i will write those till i’m dead. that is my continuous lifelong effort to say nice things to nice people while i still can.