In a melatonin haze I have gotten out of my bed at 5 a.m. to write this down, not wanting to forget, and having thought about it all day whether I wanted to or not:

I have to know what it feels like to be completely insane over another person again

I haven’t felt that in so long

All I remember about it is that I liked it

I have had so many people tell me, over the course of my adult life: “I wish I could hate you, and sometimes I do”

Mostly these are people who have never met me, or people I rarely see

Please stop saying this to me, whoever you are

I just think this is a strange thing to say to someone

And for god’s sake maybe sometimes it hurts my feelings to be told that, even if it feels good to say it to me

If I ever hear someone use the phrase “post-[whatever] complex” again I’m going to make a point to outlive them so I can throw up on their grave

That sounds kind of mean, so I probably won’t do it

I don’t want to be mean

But really: I go places with people sometimes, and they make a point to say the worst things to strangers maybe as a way to impress them

We all get that your girlfriend dumped you one time

And as a result you had a lot of time to read some fucking books that other people haven’t read

And you want everyone to know that you have read these books and have memorized passages written inside

For god’s sake, you jerks

Listen: all you need to know is that there are fruits and vegetables and things that contain protein and things that contain fiber

And there are penises and vaginas also

And there is warmth and cold and fear and pain

And even then you don’t need words for these things . . . you either get along with them or you don’t

And if you don’t, you die

It’s OK: you were going to die anyway

And when you die you’re no worse off than anyone else that has ever come before you

Death is a road we’re all on, son


Mr. Starsailor tell us a story!! About the time you slept on an elementary school playground in Pawtucket, Rhode Island! And walked ten miles south to Providence where you slept on a cafe table near the river!!!!!

In a t-shirt!!!!!

What a gorgeous god damn country! Where a man can go to sleep at 5:45 in the morning and hear crickets and have smoke waft in through the window . . . the spooky kind of smoke, which makes movies and music and walking and talking and eating feel real good.

a skeleton walked in wearing a leather jacket
and we watched as the remaining flesh
slid right off the bone

I’m actually very terrified that I’m going to be like this forever

And by “like this” I mean a dreary-looking time-rotten quasi-adult who hasn’t been hugged in six months or something and who listens to Madonna’s greatest hits at 4 a.m.

Jesus, will someone please give me a hug

“Borderline” is a great song by the way (I think I decided it is my favorite Madonna song today)

Seriously, though: I really need a hug

Or could someone rest their head on my chest and listen to my heartbeat for a few minutes

I need to know if I am real or alive or whatever

We can listen to Madonna while this happens if that’s OK

do you want the reality? or do you want me to make the reality sound nicer or more interesting? am i even capable of doing that?

shotgun blast


I had gone to Target because I didn’t want to be at home and because I wanted to feel as horribly isolated and alone as possible. When I got into the place I made a beeline for the toy aisle and went into the one with the yellow walls—yellow denoting “neutral” toys, the other aisles being some garish pink and some terrible blue, because apparently boys and girls can’t play with the same toys unless they’re weird and hard to categorize.

Of course I immediately took the cat keyboard off the shelf. I always take the cat keyboard off the shelf. The cat keyboard is a child’s music-thing shaped like a cat’s grinning face. Its teeth are the keys. If you press the “meow” button the keyboard produces notes using synthesized cat meows. It is the best thing they sell. It is the best thing anyone sells.

I held it there with my left hand and pressed the keys with my right. It wasn’t enough to keep the meows to myself. I wanted to share them with the world. So I stepped out of the aisle and stood there in that big-ass through lane near the electronics section. That’s when I saw you coming towards me holding a half gallon of milk and a bag of apples. You had on a big weird jacket and your hair was red as hell. I thought you were a good-looking person. Meanwhile other bad-looking people were passing by, either ignoring me or giving me hateful glances, maybe because they’re not having any fun at all and can’t stand the sight of someone else trying to have some, but you laughed and smiled at me when you got close. And when you did I played the first few notes to “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star”.

Girl, I played those notes for you. I just wanted you to know.

Keep twinkling, baby.