Saturday, November 25, 2017
Sleep
I just want to sleep. I hate being awake. I can't stop thinking about how things used to be. I miss Randall. I miss all of my old friends. I miss the many fabulous lives I've had and left for no good reason at all. I need drugs.
Friday, October 27, 2017
Whatever
A lot has happened since I last posted. A lot. It would take a novel, possibly, just to cover it all. So I'm not going to attempt that at the moment. But basically, I ended up going through metaphysical and literal Hell in Georgia shortly after getting a DUI (unrelated). After a two week involuntary stay at a psych ward in Gainesville, I fled to Louisville and then finally Short Mountain for the eclipse, where I had the most intense and ridiculous time that most people wouldn't believe. Anyway, I mailed a letter to Tori Amos about some of my craziness a couple days ago. She should receive it today in Chicago. Maybe she'll have some answers.
I just finished my biweekly visit with my probation officer in Milledgeville. I'm sitting at Blackbird Coffee pretending like I'm doing something important. I have a psychiatrist appointment in Dublin at 1:30, so I'm just trying to waste time. I wish there were someone from my past I could hang out with. I'm feeling kind of sad and nostalgic. I'd hang out with Michael in Dublin, but the last time I was there he literally ignored me. Ok, according to him Lucy is at work, so I guess I'm going to go see her for a bit. I feel a little awkward here, anyway.
I just finished my biweekly visit with my probation officer in Milledgeville. I'm sitting at Blackbird Coffee pretending like I'm doing something important. I have a psychiatrist appointment in Dublin at 1:30, so I'm just trying to waste time. I wish there were someone from my past I could hang out with. I'm feeling kind of sad and nostalgic. I'd hang out with Michael in Dublin, but the last time I was there he literally ignored me. Ok, according to him Lucy is at work, so I guess I'm going to go see her for a bit. I feel a little awkward here, anyway.
Monday, August 14, 2017
Isaiah 53
I got the resonance feeling that this was about me, although one part is that I keep my mouth closed. That's far from the truth, unless it's talking about when I chew.
Anyway, I'm definitely not Jesus. Although I did get a resonance that he died because he loved people and he was trying to spread Kaballah.
I'm seriously tired of feeling like shit. I wish I had some pain pills or something.
Anyway, I'm definitely not Jesus. Although I did get a resonance that he died because he loved people and he was trying to spread Kaballah.
I'm seriously tired of feeling like shit. I wish I had some pain pills or something.
i want to die
I don't know what the truth is. I don't know if I care anymore. I just want to be held. Do I really have to reincarnate into a dog for that to happen? I don't even have a family anymore. My roommate thinks I'm an arrogant asshole, even after I had to clean up her hair from the floor and hid the fact that I puked.
I don't like this reality at all. It is horrible.
I don't like this reality at all. It is horrible.
Sunday, August 13, 2017
Blah
I don't know who to trust. My roommate... I want the best for her, but I'm almost certain she's a witch. She keeps telling me I'm delusional about everything, but I KNOW what I have experienced. I'm trapped here. My car is in Atlanta. The people who tortured me have it. Allegedly the woman went to jail. This other woman told me that my mom had taken care of it, but my mom won't answer the phone. Ahmed said my mom wasn't really my mom. He said Tina was my mom, and I got the resonance feeling that it's true. I got super happy when I found out. I love Tina. I want the best for my mom, too, but I'm almost certain she's a witch, too. I mean, she's descended from at least two people who were in the Salem trials according to the LDS records. Also, I get the resonance feeling that a lot of Tori Amos's songs are about me. She has one that says Bobby (my dad) hurt her and me really bad.. something about the Cold War. And she has another one about Bill and Ben, and I get the resonance feeling that she's talking about me and Bill Gates.
I just want to know what the fuck is going on. I'm in so much pain physically and emotionally. The only solace I get is when I get the resonance feeling.
If Ahmed is really Mohammad, I want to be with him so bad--not sexually, really. I just want to hold hands and cuddle and have fun and maybe help make the world a better place. I got the feeling he is. I also got the feeling that I used to be David. I also got the feeling that someone put a curse on me (from a Mountain Goats song). Oh, and I got the feeling that the feeling comes from the Mother Goddess (Asherah, I think?). Maybe God is pissed at me or something. I don't know what laws we're supposed to follow, although I do get the resonance feeling about some sometimes. I need to start writing down everything, I guess. I'm just tired of being trapped here. It's horrible. Absolutely horrible. Why are they doing this to me?
Facebook and Youtube keep suggesting that I buy this purple mattress because it will give me absolute power. I know they want me to be their king, but not like this. I want to help make the world a better place, but I need to be in a better environment, first. I want to help my roommate and my family (even if they're not really my family). The commandment is "Suffer not a witch to live", but I think maybe the interpretation is "Don't suffer a witch if you want to live." Although in the Greek scriptures it says witchcraft is the same as rebellion. I don't remember if I got the resonance feeling on any of that, though. I'm just so sick of lies. Anyway, apparently some people like shiny things (i.e. money, I guess). I'm not that kind of guy, really, but maybe if they had money they'd stop fucking with me or something? I don't know. I'm just talking out my ass right now. I really do want everyone to be happy without hurting others, though (or the planet, for that matter).
Oh, I also got the resonance feeling that I'm Jupiter. I am pretty gassy haha. It's weird though, that I had the vision of being a diamond star, and then the Mason/OES guy gave me the key with the diamond keychain and Adam played all the diamond songs and it felt like he was trying to hurt me to "pop" me (whatever that means) to grant his wishes. Is there a diamond inside of Jupiter or something? I have no idea.
Also, my "mom" bought me a Keith Urban guitar, Mary Meyers tried to get me to be trained by him to be on The Voice, and when I was in the psych ward, they kept playing this "Blue Ain't Your Color" song which seems like it's about me. But I don't know what they're talking about that I don't need that guy. Are they talking about Ahmed or something? I don't get the resonance feeling with the song at all.
I just want to know what the fuck is going on. I'm in so much pain physically and emotionally. The only solace I get is when I get the resonance feeling.
If Ahmed is really Mohammad, I want to be with him so bad--not sexually, really. I just want to hold hands and cuddle and have fun and maybe help make the world a better place. I got the feeling he is. I also got the feeling that I used to be David. I also got the feeling that someone put a curse on me (from a Mountain Goats song). Oh, and I got the feeling that the feeling comes from the Mother Goddess (Asherah, I think?). Maybe God is pissed at me or something. I don't know what laws we're supposed to follow, although I do get the resonance feeling about some sometimes. I need to start writing down everything, I guess. I'm just tired of being trapped here. It's horrible. Absolutely horrible. Why are they doing this to me?
Facebook and Youtube keep suggesting that I buy this purple mattress because it will give me absolute power. I know they want me to be their king, but not like this. I want to help make the world a better place, but I need to be in a better environment, first. I want to help my roommate and my family (even if they're not really my family). The commandment is "Suffer not a witch to live", but I think maybe the interpretation is "Don't suffer a witch if you want to live." Although in the Greek scriptures it says witchcraft is the same as rebellion. I don't remember if I got the resonance feeling on any of that, though. I'm just so sick of lies. Anyway, apparently some people like shiny things (i.e. money, I guess). I'm not that kind of guy, really, but maybe if they had money they'd stop fucking with me or something? I don't know. I'm just talking out my ass right now. I really do want everyone to be happy without hurting others, though (or the planet, for that matter).
Oh, I also got the resonance feeling that I'm Jupiter. I am pretty gassy haha. It's weird though, that I had the vision of being a diamond star, and then the Mason/OES guy gave me the key with the diamond keychain and Adam played all the diamond songs and it felt like he was trying to hurt me to "pop" me (whatever that means) to grant his wishes. Is there a diamond inside of Jupiter or something? I have no idea.
Also, my "mom" bought me a Keith Urban guitar, Mary Meyers tried to get me to be trained by him to be on The Voice, and when I was in the psych ward, they kept playing this "Blue Ain't Your Color" song which seems like it's about me. But I don't know what they're talking about that I don't need that guy. Are they talking about Ahmed or something? I don't get the resonance feeling with the song at all.
Tuesday, July 18, 2017
Some People Have Real Problems
I adore Sia. I haven't listened to this album before, though. I was thrilled when she finally made it to mainstream. Her song that played during the finale of Six Feet Under was phenomenal. She actually performed when I was working at Coachella... last year? Or maybe the year before. I don't know. I am temporally inept. I could barely even see her, though. I was in the artists' viewing area, but it was still ridiculously packed. I could only see that actor dude tied to a chair or something. I dig her art. OH, speaking of which, I went to a lawyer the other day about my DUI, and he told me that Shia LaBeouf got busted in Savannah recently and there was all this drama because he was being racist or something. The cops in Savannah can be dicks, though. I miss Savannah.
I really want some oysters, even though they're not kosher. Allegedly I was conceived in Savannah after my dad had oysters.
Wow, my life there was so simple and so awesome. I loved working at Hollywood Video, and I had some really great friends there. Kate's mainly the only one I still talk to (although she's back in PA now). Actually the night I got my DUI I was at karaoke at Buffington's and someone sang Are You Gonna be my Girl. We used to jam out to that song at Beth's house back in 2004. So many good times there. I drunk messaged her for the first time in probably over a decade. Nostalgia is cool. I think I have some old blog entries about Savannah on my other journal.
I ended up running away because of Republican Paul. I almost always run away because of a guy. I was just in the shower listening to Miranda Lambert's "Running Just in Case" because Colleen played it for me a couple months ago, and it totally struck a chord. Oh yeah, I'm supposed to be asleep right now, but I was worried that I wouldn't wake up in time for my appointment. So yeah.
Opey just posted a meme that said,"Ben was always embarrassed when the more advanced lifeforms would catch him doing something primitive like having a job." I'm going to use that as my excuse from now on.
I want to get a job, but first I need to fix my brain. Actually the last thing Randall said to me before he was murdered was that he loved me but I needed to get a fucking job. I unfriended him because I'm dramatic like that. A month later, he was gone. I was at Kate's in Pennsylvania when Alex told me. I freaked the fuck out, obviously.
I went down to Tampa a month or so ago and saw Alex and Phillip. They used to own the gay club in Macon that I frequented since I was in high school. Randall was the bartender there. Opey actually just told me that he's in Tampa, which is a weird synchronicity. They don't know each other, though.
That's Randall and I dressed terribly (although fashionable for the time) and dancing at the club on New Years Eve 2001, I think.
You know, I just realized that since my online journals only go back to 2001, I probably haven't really written about my life before then very much. Well, there are even entire years since then I haven't written about and a plethora of amazing people who have been a huge part of my life at other points in spacetime.
But back to Randall.
He transferred to Bleckley County in 5th grade and was in my class. Apparently I called him a queer in a pathetic attempt at projection. I'm surprised I did that, though, since I was super shy and quiet when I was a kid. The only comments I got on my report cards were that I should talk more in class. Actually, I take that back. My best friend Jacob stopped hanging out with me around that time because people started calling me a queer, I think, so it makes sense. In elementary school I always had a "girlfriend". My mom bought a pink ice ring for me to give Amanda Smith--the most popular girl in school--but Timothy and I used to fight over her. Jenni (Jacob's cousin) and I actually started an "I hate Timothy" club. That is so terrible. Tim is a nice guy, though. I think I secretly had a crush on him back then, actually.
Anyway, it wasn't until 8th grade Georgia History class when Randall and I finally bonded over an Alanis Morisette cassette tape and a Ouija board that the teacher confiscated. Angel was in our little delinquent group, too, I think. That was the year I stopped being a straight A student and became a little rebellious, mainly due to the fact that I had missed several months of 7th grade because I almost died from mycoplasma pneumonia (which, incidentally, was one of the pathogens I e-mailed Obama about when I was being delusional). I also found out a couple years ago that they had to put me on suboxone when I was in the hospital because I had become hooked on morphine. Maybe that's when the drug addiction started. I also had a plasma transfusion, which played into my religious delusions, especially since Jehovah Witnesses forbid it. I was in the hospital for a long time and then spent maybe a couple months doing Hospital Homebound. Tara was my tutor. I miss her. She's one of the few people from school who doesn't have a Facebook, apparently. Good for her. Everyone made cards for me that year. It was really nice. I still have them somewhere.
Actually, 8th grade was also the first time I ever had an altercation with the law. Our gifted class took a trip to Washington, D.C. and stopped to eat at some mall in Virginia, I think. Amanda Newman and I went to a pharmacy next door, and for some reason she thought it would be cool to steal a lighter. I wanted to be cool, too, so I followed her lead, but then chickened out at the last minute, but not before I was caught. They took us to the back room, and I thought they were going to take us to jail. It was horrible. I was so embarrassed. I told my parents I was actually trying to cover for Amanda by attempting to put the package back or something. I think this might be the first time I've ever told the truth about what happened. She ended up breaking her foot or something at some historical site with marble steps--I can't remember. That was a long ass time ago. I do remember that Saxby Chambliss (or maybe Newt Gingrich?) stood us up, which was lame. Amanda is another one who doesn't have a Facebook, as far as I know. I hope she's doing okay.
I wish I could remember what year it was that I had my huge birthday party. It was sometime in Middle School. I remember Amanda and Cal made out in my tree house, and I was so jealous because I had a huge crush on Cal. I think my pony Peanut ended up stepping on Amanda's foot or something... maybe it was someone else, though. But yeah, Cal. His dad owned the funeral home, and my dad owned the monument company, so they were associates, I guess. He never really had anything to do with me until he sat behind me in drama class in high school. I finally got to talk to him, and I was so excited. But one day, Colleen, Randall, Lilly, and I were at the Huddle House, as usual, and Cal came in. I played Allison Krauss's "When You Say Nothing at All" (#127 on the Jukebox) like I did every day. Okay, so maybe it was directed at Cal, but I really did play it pretty much every day anyway. Of course, the whole school ended up finding out that I played it for him, and I haven't spoken to him since. Randall had a crush on him, too.
Oh, and I was supposed to play Prince Charming in the one-act play that year, but I got mono at the last minute, and they wouldn't let me go on. Cal ended up filling in for me. I still remember the lyrics to my song, though: "The woman I love is no longer a dream sent from up above. I know it's too late to be switchin, but my wife spends her time in the kitchen.... Ohhhh, can't take the cinder out of Cinderalla, Cinderalla, Cinderalla. Gosh, oh, gee, I'd be a happy fella, if I could get through. I shot for the moon, thought I married the best, but I'm back down to earth and so depressed." Ha. I think Ashley played Cinderalla, actually. I know she played one of the princesses. I really need to call her. I went to see her the other day, but she was in a shittie mood, and I was in a crazy mood, so I left abruptly.
Well, I was going to just write about Randall, but now all of these other old memories have come flooding back. But I am absolutely exhausted right now and am going to have to break down and take a nap. I seriously hope I wake up in time for my appointment.
Actually, I just realized it's Tuesday and not Wednesday, so I took three Benadryl and am hoping I will pass the fuck out. I'm feeling extremely delirious. And I'm going to make this private again because I was just being manic and crazy earlier.
I really want some oysters, even though they're not kosher. Allegedly I was conceived in Savannah after my dad had oysters.
Wow, my life there was so simple and so awesome. I loved working at Hollywood Video, and I had some really great friends there. Kate's mainly the only one I still talk to (although she's back in PA now). Actually the night I got my DUI I was at karaoke at Buffington's and someone sang Are You Gonna be my Girl. We used to jam out to that song at Beth's house back in 2004. So many good times there. I drunk messaged her for the first time in probably over a decade. Nostalgia is cool. I think I have some old blog entries about Savannah on my other journal.
I ended up running away because of Republican Paul. I almost always run away because of a guy. I was just in the shower listening to Miranda Lambert's "Running Just in Case" because Colleen played it for me a couple months ago, and it totally struck a chord. Oh yeah, I'm supposed to be asleep right now, but I was worried that I wouldn't wake up in time for my appointment. So yeah.
Opey just posted a meme that said,"Ben was always embarrassed when the more advanced lifeforms would catch him doing something primitive like having a job." I'm going to use that as my excuse from now on.
I want to get a job, but first I need to fix my brain. Actually the last thing Randall said to me before he was murdered was that he loved me but I needed to get a fucking job. I unfriended him because I'm dramatic like that. A month later, he was gone. I was at Kate's in Pennsylvania when Alex told me. I freaked the fuck out, obviously.
I went down to Tampa a month or so ago and saw Alex and Phillip. They used to own the gay club in Macon that I frequented since I was in high school. Randall was the bartender there. Opey actually just told me that he's in Tampa, which is a weird synchronicity. They don't know each other, though.
That's Randall and I dressed terribly (although fashionable for the time) and dancing at the club on New Years Eve 2001, I think.
You know, I just realized that since my online journals only go back to 2001, I probably haven't really written about my life before then very much. Well, there are even entire years since then I haven't written about and a plethora of amazing people who have been a huge part of my life at other points in spacetime.
But back to Randall.
He transferred to Bleckley County in 5th grade and was in my class. Apparently I called him a queer in a pathetic attempt at projection. I'm surprised I did that, though, since I was super shy and quiet when I was a kid. The only comments I got on my report cards were that I should talk more in class. Actually, I take that back. My best friend Jacob stopped hanging out with me around that time because people started calling me a queer, I think, so it makes sense. In elementary school I always had a "girlfriend". My mom bought a pink ice ring for me to give Amanda Smith--the most popular girl in school--but Timothy and I used to fight over her. Jenni (Jacob's cousin) and I actually started an "I hate Timothy" club. That is so terrible. Tim is a nice guy, though. I think I secretly had a crush on him back then, actually.
Anyway, it wasn't until 8th grade Georgia History class when Randall and I finally bonded over an Alanis Morisette cassette tape and a Ouija board that the teacher confiscated. Angel was in our little delinquent group, too, I think. That was the year I stopped being a straight A student and became a little rebellious, mainly due to the fact that I had missed several months of 7th grade because I almost died from mycoplasma pneumonia (which, incidentally, was one of the pathogens I e-mailed Obama about when I was being delusional). I also found out a couple years ago that they had to put me on suboxone when I was in the hospital because I had become hooked on morphine. Maybe that's when the drug addiction started. I also had a plasma transfusion, which played into my religious delusions, especially since Jehovah Witnesses forbid it. I was in the hospital for a long time and then spent maybe a couple months doing Hospital Homebound. Tara was my tutor. I miss her. She's one of the few people from school who doesn't have a Facebook, apparently. Good for her. Everyone made cards for me that year. It was really nice. I still have them somewhere.
Actually, 8th grade was also the first time I ever had an altercation with the law. Our gifted class took a trip to Washington, D.C. and stopped to eat at some mall in Virginia, I think. Amanda Newman and I went to a pharmacy next door, and for some reason she thought it would be cool to steal a lighter. I wanted to be cool, too, so I followed her lead, but then chickened out at the last minute, but not before I was caught. They took us to the back room, and I thought they were going to take us to jail. It was horrible. I was so embarrassed. I told my parents I was actually trying to cover for Amanda by attempting to put the package back or something. I think this might be the first time I've ever told the truth about what happened. She ended up breaking her foot or something at some historical site with marble steps--I can't remember. That was a long ass time ago. I do remember that Saxby Chambliss (or maybe Newt Gingrich?) stood us up, which was lame. Amanda is another one who doesn't have a Facebook, as far as I know. I hope she's doing okay.
I wish I could remember what year it was that I had my huge birthday party. It was sometime in Middle School. I remember Amanda and Cal made out in my tree house, and I was so jealous because I had a huge crush on Cal. I think my pony Peanut ended up stepping on Amanda's foot or something... maybe it was someone else, though. But yeah, Cal. His dad owned the funeral home, and my dad owned the monument company, so they were associates, I guess. He never really had anything to do with me until he sat behind me in drama class in high school. I finally got to talk to him, and I was so excited. But one day, Colleen, Randall, Lilly, and I were at the Huddle House, as usual, and Cal came in. I played Allison Krauss's "When You Say Nothing at All" (#127 on the Jukebox) like I did every day. Okay, so maybe it was directed at Cal, but I really did play it pretty much every day anyway. Of course, the whole school ended up finding out that I played it for him, and I haven't spoken to him since. Randall had a crush on him, too.
Oh, and I was supposed to play Prince Charming in the one-act play that year, but I got mono at the last minute, and they wouldn't let me go on. Cal ended up filling in for me. I still remember the lyrics to my song, though: "The woman I love is no longer a dream sent from up above. I know it's too late to be switchin, but my wife spends her time in the kitchen.... Ohhhh, can't take the cinder out of Cinderalla, Cinderalla, Cinderalla. Gosh, oh, gee, I'd be a happy fella, if I could get through. I shot for the moon, thought I married the best, but I'm back down to earth and so depressed." Ha. I think Ashley played Cinderalla, actually. I know she played one of the princesses. I really need to call her. I went to see her the other day, but she was in a shittie mood, and I was in a crazy mood, so I left abruptly.
Well, I was going to just write about Randall, but now all of these other old memories have come flooding back. But I am absolutely exhausted right now and am going to have to break down and take a nap. I seriously hope I wake up in time for my appointment.
Actually, I just realized it's Tuesday and not Wednesday, so I took three Benadryl and am hoping I will pass the fuck out. I'm feeling extremely delirious. And I'm going to make this private again because I was just being manic and crazy earlier.
Uh Huh Her
I love PJ Harvey, but I don't think I've ever actually listened to this entire album. Incidentally, it's also the name of the real life band of Clementine's former co-star on The L Word. Colleen was really into them.
I'm a shit person, I know. I feel like PJ is singing about me. Cunt. It's okay.
And then there's that You Said Something song that Whit always played during our month-long monogamous experiment in Brooklyn before he went on tour in Brazil and I went crazy and quit my job and ended up sharing a needle with this guy named Piss who had Hepatitis C in a laundromat bathroom in Bed-Stuy. I'm surprised I didn't catch it. My arm did swell up with these weird patchy spots, but I felt great. That was actually a really fun night.
Oh wait, actually that was after Whit came back from Brazil. I flew down to Louisville to play a house show with him, but I got really stoned and was too nervous to do it. I took a nap, and when I woke up he was playing with one of his other lovers (he's polyamorous). I got pissed off and ended up going next door and spending the next few days hooking up with his neighbor. I ran into him (the neighbor) again randomly at the Rainbow Gathering in South Dakota a few years later, but I was too fucking syphilitic and strung out on Adderall then to be sociable.
Anyway, I took a train back to NYC, I think, and went directly to the Metropolitan, telling myself that I was going to fuck the first guy who talked to me. It happened to be an HIV+ artist named David. He was pretty cool. He was on antiretrovirals or whatever, so his count was low enough that he was pretty much noncontagious. We did 2C-P and had amazing sex. Then he got into this weird artistic rage mode and threw paint all over a canvas on the floor. We ended up in the Lower East Side at like 2 in the morning in nothing but our boxers and covered in paint. I bought a bag of clementines (ha) and gave them to some tranny hookers on the corner. They were cleaning the subway station though, and I literally thought I was being gassed in a concentration camp. And when we got back home, we were cuddling in bed and his face started morphing into different beings including a demonic elf, and I spent the next hour crying in the shower. That was pretty intense.
I met Piss through David. Piss was this young and absolutely beautiful American Indian junkie with face tattoos. I spent a night with him and his girlfriend in a squat. I gave her my old ukulele and wrote a lyric from one of Amanda Palmer's songs on it. I wonder if she still has it. David's dog ended up eating my shoes, so I took his Converse. It was like the third pair of grey Converse I owned. I miss them.
It really sucks not being able to smoke in my room. I can't mention that enough.
Speaking of smoking, Whit did this art project thing on my bedroom wall with a bunch of found objects. It was supposed to represent who I am. Since I don't really have much stuff, it ended up being a bunch of empty cigarette boxes and cellophane connected by string. He also included his big hoop earring and a quarter with a hole in it. I miss him. I haven't talked to him years. I was hoping I'd run into him the last time I was in Chicago, but I didn't.
Anyway, I could go on and on and on about this subject, but I don't feel like it right now. I actually made a shittie improv song about some of it once: https://soundcloud.com/ben-pettis/improv-for-whit
I tried to write an autobiographical song earlier, but I hate everything I do now. Here's the first couple verses:
i'm just a quiet little boy
who doesn't like to play with toys
i much prefer the company
of encyclopedias and trees
sometimes mama dresses me
up like the girl i long to be
but if my daddy catches me
i don't know what he'd do to me
---
I'm going to try to sleep a few more hours. I got a nap in earlier, and Amy made some hamburger helper, which made me feel infinitely better. My doctor appointment is at 3:15. My mom wants to go with me, but I hope she doesn't tell my doctor that I took all my pills in the first two weeks, because if she doesn't give me anything, I don't know what I'm going to do. This time I'm definitely giving Amy the bottle so she can hide them from me and only give them to me when I need them.
This is probably a really stupid decision, but I think I'm going to make my blog public now and see what happens. Larkin said I should do it for art's sake, even though I don't really consider this art. I also think the feedback from strangers would be beneficial. I just hope too many people don't end up reading it. And I hope people don't get pissed off because I've written about them. I'm sorry, if so. You can sue me, but as my dad always says, "You can't squeeze blood out of a turnip."
I'm a shit person, I know. I feel like PJ is singing about me. Cunt. It's okay.
And then there's that You Said Something song that Whit always played during our month-long monogamous experiment in Brooklyn before he went on tour in Brazil and I went crazy and quit my job and ended up sharing a needle with this guy named Piss who had Hepatitis C in a laundromat bathroom in Bed-Stuy. I'm surprised I didn't catch it. My arm did swell up with these weird patchy spots, but I felt great. That was actually a really fun night.
Oh wait, actually that was after Whit came back from Brazil. I flew down to Louisville to play a house show with him, but I got really stoned and was too nervous to do it. I took a nap, and when I woke up he was playing with one of his other lovers (he's polyamorous). I got pissed off and ended up going next door and spending the next few days hooking up with his neighbor. I ran into him (the neighbor) again randomly at the Rainbow Gathering in South Dakota a few years later, but I was too fucking syphilitic and strung out on Adderall then to be sociable.
Anyway, I took a train back to NYC, I think, and went directly to the Metropolitan, telling myself that I was going to fuck the first guy who talked to me. It happened to be an HIV+ artist named David. He was pretty cool. He was on antiretrovirals or whatever, so his count was low enough that he was pretty much noncontagious. We did 2C-P and had amazing sex. Then he got into this weird artistic rage mode and threw paint all over a canvas on the floor. We ended up in the Lower East Side at like 2 in the morning in nothing but our boxers and covered in paint. I bought a bag of clementines (ha) and gave them to some tranny hookers on the corner. They were cleaning the subway station though, and I literally thought I was being gassed in a concentration camp. And when we got back home, we were cuddling in bed and his face started morphing into different beings including a demonic elf, and I spent the next hour crying in the shower. That was pretty intense.
I met Piss through David. Piss was this young and absolutely beautiful American Indian junkie with face tattoos. I spent a night with him and his girlfriend in a squat. I gave her my old ukulele and wrote a lyric from one of Amanda Palmer's songs on it. I wonder if she still has it. David's dog ended up eating my shoes, so I took his Converse. It was like the third pair of grey Converse I owned. I miss them.
It really sucks not being able to smoke in my room. I can't mention that enough.
Speaking of smoking, Whit did this art project thing on my bedroom wall with a bunch of found objects. It was supposed to represent who I am. Since I don't really have much stuff, it ended up being a bunch of empty cigarette boxes and cellophane connected by string. He also included his big hoop earring and a quarter with a hole in it. I miss him. I haven't talked to him years. I was hoping I'd run into him the last time I was in Chicago, but I didn't.
Anyway, I could go on and on and on about this subject, but I don't feel like it right now. I actually made a shittie improv song about some of it once: https://soundcloud.com/ben-pettis/improv-for-whit
I tried to write an autobiographical song earlier, but I hate everything I do now. Here's the first couple verses:
i'm just a quiet little boy
who doesn't like to play with toys
i much prefer the company
of encyclopedias and trees
sometimes mama dresses me
up like the girl i long to be
but if my daddy catches me
i don't know what he'd do to me
---
I'm going to try to sleep a few more hours. I got a nap in earlier, and Amy made some hamburger helper, which made me feel infinitely better. My doctor appointment is at 3:15. My mom wants to go with me, but I hope she doesn't tell my doctor that I took all my pills in the first two weeks, because if she doesn't give me anything, I don't know what I'm going to do. This time I'm definitely giving Amy the bottle so she can hide them from me and only give them to me when I need them.
This is probably a really stupid decision, but I think I'm going to make my blog public now and see what happens. Larkin said I should do it for art's sake, even though I don't really consider this art. I also think the feedback from strangers would be beneficial. I just hope too many people don't end up reading it. And I hope people don't get pissed off because I've written about them. I'm sorry, if so. You can sue me, but as my dad always says, "You can't squeeze blood out of a turnip."
Monday, July 17, 2017
Nevermind
This is my third entry for today.
I am currently listening to Nirvana's Nevermind album because it's appropriate in so many ways. It's weird how everything is so connected.
Also, it's probably about time that I mention how I had a bump of meth last night. Yes, I did the very drug that basically killed one of the few remaining people who actually wanted to hang out with me.
It wasn't my intention, though.
I was supposed to be meeting some Grindr guy for sushi downtown, and I had to stop and get gas. An old friend of mine was there with this other guy, and they needed a ride to the south side. Oh, I'm in Milledgeville, btw. I don't know if I've mentioned that already. Anyway, the other guy was super cool and actually drug-free other than prescribed Zoloft and Risperdol. I had a really heartfelt conversation with him as my friend went to get some weed and a little meth. I was just going to smoke some weed, but my lack of self-control and stupidity kicked in, so I had a tiny little bump. My tolerance for stimulants is extremely low, so I still feel pretty geeked up. I feel like someone beat the shit out of me, too. Oh, and I got super paranoid at one point and had to get Kate to call me and pretend to be my roommate so I could escape. Then I ended up driving 30 miles in the wrong direction and almost ran out of gas. There's way more to the story, but I don't even want to think about it right now, let alone type about it.
Blah blah blah blah blah.
This is such a stupid album.
I used to like it, but now it's connected to less desirable thoughts in my brain.
My Aunt Betty Jean replied to my Facebook message. She said she would love to have me come visit, and she gave me her phone number. I'll have to wait til I get my weekly allowance and am not so cracked out.
If I still worked at the base I could get one of the nurses to hook me up to a saline drip. That always cured alcohol hangovers, so I'm sure it would work for this, too. I miss those days. MY HEAD HURTS SO BAD. But I deserve it.
I'll have my prescription Wednesday, and I'm going to give them to Amy so she can hide them from me. As long as I have my medicine, I am content lying in bed and watching Netflix instead of running amok. I don't know what I'm going to do when I run out of things to watch, though. I feel like that day is coming very soon. I wish I could do something to positively affect the world instead of be such a parasite.
I am currently listening to Nirvana's Nevermind album because it's appropriate in so many ways. It's weird how everything is so connected.
Also, it's probably about time that I mention how I had a bump of meth last night. Yes, I did the very drug that basically killed one of the few remaining people who actually wanted to hang out with me.
It wasn't my intention, though.
I was supposed to be meeting some Grindr guy for sushi downtown, and I had to stop and get gas. An old friend of mine was there with this other guy, and they needed a ride to the south side. Oh, I'm in Milledgeville, btw. I don't know if I've mentioned that already. Anyway, the other guy was super cool and actually drug-free other than prescribed Zoloft and Risperdol. I had a really heartfelt conversation with him as my friend went to get some weed and a little meth. I was just going to smoke some weed, but my lack of self-control and stupidity kicked in, so I had a tiny little bump. My tolerance for stimulants is extremely low, so I still feel pretty geeked up. I feel like someone beat the shit out of me, too. Oh, and I got super paranoid at one point and had to get Kate to call me and pretend to be my roommate so I could escape. Then I ended up driving 30 miles in the wrong direction and almost ran out of gas. There's way more to the story, but I don't even want to think about it right now, let alone type about it.
Blah blah blah blah blah.
This is such a stupid album.
I used to like it, but now it's connected to less desirable thoughts in my brain.
My Aunt Betty Jean replied to my Facebook message. She said she would love to have me come visit, and she gave me her phone number. I'll have to wait til I get my weekly allowance and am not so cracked out.
If I still worked at the base I could get one of the nurses to hook me up to a saline drip. That always cured alcohol hangovers, so I'm sure it would work for this, too. I miss those days. MY HEAD HURTS SO BAD. But I deserve it.
I'll have my prescription Wednesday, and I'm going to give them to Amy so she can hide them from me. As long as I have my medicine, I am content lying in bed and watching Netflix instead of running amok. I don't know what I'm going to do when I run out of things to watch, though. I feel like that day is coming very soon. I wish I could do something to positively affect the world instead of be such a parasite.
Silence
Amy finally woke up. I feel like she read my last post, but I know that's not possible. The only person that has access to this blog now is Kate. I sent invitations to Larkin and Molly, but they haven't accepted it yet. Anyway, she told me she checked her Facebook, and Lori did send her a Happy Birthday message. So that's cool. I think in an earlier entry I said Lori wasn't talking to me anymore because she's all posh now or something, but I don't think that's true. I don't know why we don't talk anymore, but after reading through the past 16 years of my online journals, it probably has something to do with the fact that I'm a pretty shittie drug addict. Actually, Amy told me if she didn't love me she wouldn't have anything to do with me because my only focus is drugs.
I can't really deny that. Being sober sucks. I don't know what's wrong with me or when it started. I got an MRI the other day, because my new doctor thinks I'm a genius and wants to see my brain (ha). I'm just convinced that my pre-frontal cortex is obliterated. I have almost no self-control or motivation for anything that doesn't involve smoking cigarettes, getting high, flirting with guys, and occasionally playing my ukulele and singing. And now this. But I've decided I'm never going to allow it to go public because I don't want to negatively influence anyone. I mean, I don't want some teenager to think, hey, maybe if I live my life like this asshole, I'll be famous too. I wonder Kurt Cobain thought about that... probably not. Yva knew him, obviously. She either said that she saw him make out with a guy at a party or that if I had been around back then he would've made out with me at a party or both. I can't remember. It doesn't matter. See, there I go being a fucking drama queen.
I read something on Facebook the other day that gave a list of character traits that turn people off, and I had pretty much all of them. The only one I really remember was name-dropping. I remember when I used to crash/hang out at Aglago in Silver Lake that was a popular topic of conversation. But interestingly, it was always the transplants who were so anti-name dropping, and all of the natives were like teenage girls when it came to Hollywood gossip.
Speaking of Hollywood gossip and being a drama queen, I found a journal entry back in 2003 where I talked about going to some big New Years Eve party in Atlanta. I ended up going, and it was amazing. Danger Mouse (Brian, I think) was spinning, and everyone had a bottle of champagne. He played Outkast's Hey Ya, and everyone started going crazy and bouncing up and down. I was down in the basement, and champagne was leaking through the roof. Actually, that last bit may have been a false memory for dramatic effect, but there was definitely a lot of champagne spilled that night.
That was the night I met Clementine. It was Bob Lovett's party, I think, who was an old friend from Dublin. His brother Ben and this guy Jacob had made a movie called The Last Goodbye (great title--Jeff Buckley), which I never really watched, but starred Faye Dunnaway, David Carradine, and a bunch of children of famous actors, one of whom was Clementine. I think Clementine was dating Ben at the time, and Naomi or someone took me to meet her. I think Colleen was there or maybe Randall--I can't remember--but someone told me that she was Goldie Hawn's daughter, even though she was actually Cybil Shepherd's daughter. Anyway, that night is kind of a blur, but I do remember that she had brought back some Absinthe from Europe (this was before they legalized it here, if I remember correctly), and it was the first time I ever tasted it.
Before I digress too much, let me get to my point.
Later that year, super long story short, I started dating Paul, this fundamentalist Republican closet case who ended up working for Tucker Carlson. I catfished (before it was called catfishing) him on Craigslist to see if he was cheating on me, and he fell for it. I freaked out, got extremely wasted, and tried to slit my wrists. Then I found Paul's ex-boyfriend David online and started talking to him. We bonded over getting burned by Paul, so I flew out to West Hollywood and moved in with him. I pretty much slept all day and went out every night while David paid the bills and worked a full time job. I did help him re-image Jim Henson's sister's computers once. But other than that, I was a lazy fuck who was basically taking advantage of him, even though I seriously didn't realize what I was doing at the time. He was into me, so he let it happen until his best friend Joezen put an end to it and kicked me out.
I called Lori freaking out, not knowing what to do, so she called Clementine and told her to come pick me up. That was actually the first time I ever smoked an American Spirit cigarette. Anyway, I spent the night at Clementine's, and the next day she took me over to her mom's. That was the first time I had ever been to a famous person's house. I don't think I ever told her, but I was fucking obsessed with the Cybil show when I was in high school, so it was super weird for me. Cybil was shooting some sort of commercial in her living room, and her assistants had me watch her bedroom stairs to tell them when she was coming down. They also told me that if I hung around long enough, they'd get rid of my southern accent. As surreal as it was, unfortunately Clementine found out that day that her childhood nanny had died. All I remember was feeling bad for her and freaking out because she was driving really fast around Mulholland Drive and crying.
Anyway, the whole reason I brought up Clementine is because she was the first person to ever call me a drama queen. That really hit hard since she was the biggest literal drama queen I knew. At the time I think she starred in The L Word, which was such an awesome show. But my drama, unlike hers, was real and wasn't just for entertainment purposes.
I haven't talked to her in a few years--probably since I started having crazy delusions enabled by my ex-boyfriend that I was going to release an album of shittie songs I made up after learning how to play a few chords on my ukulele. I think I kind of blew up her Facebook. Actually, I really don't know why she stopped talking to me. There are so many possibilities. I was totally a drama queen. I still am, I guess. It's pretty fucking embarrassing at this point.
"Fifty states, fifty lines, fifty cryin all the times. Fifty boys, fifty lies, fifty I'm gonna change my minds. I changed my mind, I changed my mind. Now I'm feeling different. We were young, we were young, we were young, we didn't care. Is it gone? Is it gone? Or is it floating in the air? I changed my mind, I changed my mind. Now I'm feeling different. All that time... wasted. I wish I was a little more... delicate. I wish my, I wish my, I wish my, I wish my name was Clementine." - Sarah Jaffe
I heard that song for the first time the other day while I was taking a shower, and I cried for like an hour. It was really fucking weird.
I wish my head would stop pounding. I need to eat something, but I can't get anything down. I mean, I haven't tried, but that would most likely be the outcome.
Amy thinks I need to call Brandon and hang out with him, since he's sober now and he's been my friend for like 20 years. Speaking of Brandons, I found an old entry where I declared my love for a Brandon, but I have absolutely no idea what Brandon I was talking about. I also realized there are like four different Justins I've mentioned, which would probably make things pretty confusing if anyone ever actually read this shit. I should probably go back and annotate the entries to clarify stuff. I'm thinking about finding a good psychologist and giving them access to my journals so they could possibly help figure out what the fuck is wrong with me. I wish it were just a simple case of drug addiction, but the fact that I had crazy delusions when I was on an anti-psychotic in rehab kind of rules that out. Who knows. Not me.
I'm going to stop typing now.
I can't really deny that. Being sober sucks. I don't know what's wrong with me or when it started. I got an MRI the other day, because my new doctor thinks I'm a genius and wants to see my brain (ha). I'm just convinced that my pre-frontal cortex is obliterated. I have almost no self-control or motivation for anything that doesn't involve smoking cigarettes, getting high, flirting with guys, and occasionally playing my ukulele and singing. And now this. But I've decided I'm never going to allow it to go public because I don't want to negatively influence anyone. I mean, I don't want some teenager to think, hey, maybe if I live my life like this asshole, I'll be famous too. I wonder Kurt Cobain thought about that... probably not. Yva knew him, obviously. She either said that she saw him make out with a guy at a party or that if I had been around back then he would've made out with me at a party or both. I can't remember. It doesn't matter. See, there I go being a fucking drama queen.
I read something on Facebook the other day that gave a list of character traits that turn people off, and I had pretty much all of them. The only one I really remember was name-dropping. I remember when I used to crash/hang out at Aglago in Silver Lake that was a popular topic of conversation. But interestingly, it was always the transplants who were so anti-name dropping, and all of the natives were like teenage girls when it came to Hollywood gossip.
Speaking of Hollywood gossip and being a drama queen, I found a journal entry back in 2003 where I talked about going to some big New Years Eve party in Atlanta. I ended up going, and it was amazing. Danger Mouse (Brian, I think) was spinning, and everyone had a bottle of champagne. He played Outkast's Hey Ya, and everyone started going crazy and bouncing up and down. I was down in the basement, and champagne was leaking through the roof. Actually, that last bit may have been a false memory for dramatic effect, but there was definitely a lot of champagne spilled that night.
That was the night I met Clementine. It was Bob Lovett's party, I think, who was an old friend from Dublin. His brother Ben and this guy Jacob had made a movie called The Last Goodbye (great title--Jeff Buckley), which I never really watched, but starred Faye Dunnaway, David Carradine, and a bunch of children of famous actors, one of whom was Clementine. I think Clementine was dating Ben at the time, and Naomi or someone took me to meet her. I think Colleen was there or maybe Randall--I can't remember--but someone told me that she was Goldie Hawn's daughter, even though she was actually Cybil Shepherd's daughter. Anyway, that night is kind of a blur, but I do remember that she had brought back some Absinthe from Europe (this was before they legalized it here, if I remember correctly), and it was the first time I ever tasted it.
Before I digress too much, let me get to my point.
Later that year, super long story short, I started dating Paul, this fundamentalist Republican closet case who ended up working for Tucker Carlson. I catfished (before it was called catfishing) him on Craigslist to see if he was cheating on me, and he fell for it. I freaked out, got extremely wasted, and tried to slit my wrists. Then I found Paul's ex-boyfriend David online and started talking to him. We bonded over getting burned by Paul, so I flew out to West Hollywood and moved in with him. I pretty much slept all day and went out every night while David paid the bills and worked a full time job. I did help him re-image Jim Henson's sister's computers once. But other than that, I was a lazy fuck who was basically taking advantage of him, even though I seriously didn't realize what I was doing at the time. He was into me, so he let it happen until his best friend Joezen put an end to it and kicked me out.
I called Lori freaking out, not knowing what to do, so she called Clementine and told her to come pick me up. That was actually the first time I ever smoked an American Spirit cigarette. Anyway, I spent the night at Clementine's, and the next day she took me over to her mom's. That was the first time I had ever been to a famous person's house. I don't think I ever told her, but I was fucking obsessed with the Cybil show when I was in high school, so it was super weird for me. Cybil was shooting some sort of commercial in her living room, and her assistants had me watch her bedroom stairs to tell them when she was coming down. They also told me that if I hung around long enough, they'd get rid of my southern accent. As surreal as it was, unfortunately Clementine found out that day that her childhood nanny had died. All I remember was feeling bad for her and freaking out because she was driving really fast around Mulholland Drive and crying.
Anyway, the whole reason I brought up Clementine is because she was the first person to ever call me a drama queen. That really hit hard since she was the biggest literal drama queen I knew. At the time I think she starred in The L Word, which was such an awesome show. But my drama, unlike hers, was real and wasn't just for entertainment purposes.
I haven't talked to her in a few years--probably since I started having crazy delusions enabled by my ex-boyfriend that I was going to release an album of shittie songs I made up after learning how to play a few chords on my ukulele. I think I kind of blew up her Facebook. Actually, I really don't know why she stopped talking to me. There are so many possibilities. I was totally a drama queen. I still am, I guess. It's pretty fucking embarrassing at this point.
"Fifty states, fifty lines, fifty cryin all the times. Fifty boys, fifty lies, fifty I'm gonna change my minds. I changed my mind, I changed my mind. Now I'm feeling different. We were young, we were young, we were young, we didn't care. Is it gone? Is it gone? Or is it floating in the air? I changed my mind, I changed my mind. Now I'm feeling different. All that time... wasted. I wish I was a little more... delicate. I wish my, I wish my, I wish my, I wish my name was Clementine." - Sarah Jaffe
I heard that song for the first time the other day while I was taking a shower, and I cried for like an hour. It was really fucking weird.
I wish my head would stop pounding. I need to eat something, but I can't get anything down. I mean, I haven't tried, but that would most likely be the outcome.
Amy thinks I need to call Brandon and hang out with him, since he's sober now and he's been my friend for like 20 years. Speaking of Brandons, I found an old entry where I declared my love for a Brandon, but I have absolutely no idea what Brandon I was talking about. I also realized there are like four different Justins I've mentioned, which would probably make things pretty confusing if anyone ever actually read this shit. I should probably go back and annotate the entries to clarify stuff. I'm thinking about finding a good psychologist and giving them access to my journals so they could possibly help figure out what the fuck is wrong with me. I wish it were just a simple case of drug addiction, but the fact that I had crazy delusions when I was on an anti-psychotic in rehab kind of rules that out. Who knows. Not me.
I'm going to stop typing now.
Pablo Honey
I never knew the name of this album before. I wanted to listen to Creep just now, and I discovered it. I don't think I've ever listened to the whole thing. Anyway, I wanted to listen to Creep because I strongly identify with that song. It's probably the song I sing the best. I made $20 from one guy once from playing it near the pier in Marina Del Rey.
I have this little voice in my head sometimes. I mean, I'm assuming it's coming from within my brain, but for a while there I was testing it to see if it was coming from "God" or something, even though you're not supposed to test God. The other day, when I went to buy a 12 pack of Coca-Cola at Kroger, the voice told me to turn down a certain isle. It wasn't the soda isle. There was a big display of hard cider, and I thought maybe I was supposed to get that instead, because I do love cider, but I realized I didn't have enough money. As soon as I was sad that the voice was wrong, I looked down, and there was one 12 pack of Coca-Cola hidden behind a sign.
But then I came home, and I was looking for a spoon. The voice told me to look in a bowl in the sink that was murky and filled with water. There was no spoon. So, I don't know what's up with that. Maybe sometimes I subconsciously manifest the voice and it sounds like the external voice, or maybe (most likely) it really is just my schizophrenic brain and my subconscious all along. I suck at discernment.
Today was really fucking insane. I finally made it home at like 2:30am, and I wanted to talk to my roommate, but I think she was pretending to be asleep. I messaged my Grandma's sister (her only sibling left--she was the youngest) and asked her if she would get lunch with me one day because she's the closest thing I have to Grandma, and I miss her very much. But now I'm worried that will come off as kind of douchey. I should have said I missed her and wanted to talk to her, which I do, but not as much as my Grandma. And I'm trying to be honest about everything. I did lie once today, but I felt like my life depended on it.
I just really want to go somewhere with nice people and healthy things and get help. But I don't want to be trapped anywhere, because there's a good chance I will freak the fuck out. I actually thought about writing down all of the illegal things I've done in the past and giving it to a police officer, but there's nothing super major, and the statute of limitations have probably passed on everything already anyway. I wouldn't mind going to prison, although I'd rather not get raped or beat up. I've been beat up before and can deal with that, but the main reason I wouldn't want to be raped is because of the HPV. I mean, I can deal with pain, but I still have major issues about my STDs and baldness. Speaking of which, I wonder if I were arrested they would let me shave my head first? When I got my DUI last weekend, I asked them if they could take my mugshot without showing my hairline, and they couldn't. It's such a horrible picture. With a hat on, people think I'm in my early 20s, but without it, I look like the crazy pathetic loser creep 35 year old I really am.
So when I first went to jail (this was my first time ever being arrested), I bitched a lot because it was freezing in the holding cell, and they wouldn't give me a blanket. But then I felt bad about it, so I asked the jailer if she would talk to me. We ended up chatting for hours about race and religion and the Illuminati (her topic). She was really nice. I liked her a lot.
So I've been having really strange and vivid dreams lately. Last night I dreamt that I had my liver removed for some reason and found out I had HIV. There was only a tiny little incision in my abdomen where they took it out. There was a line of about 100 people, at least, waiting to get their meds, and I was freaking out because either I was in a lot of pain or wanted antibiotics--I can't remember. It reminded me of the day after I got out of the hospital in Los Angeles for psychosis and freaked out waiting in line to get my anti-psychotic. I never got them, mainly because the manufacturer's name was Aurobindo, and I thought that the pills would somehow bind my aura, which didn't sound like a good thing.
The night before last I had a dream that I went to a party at this large warehouse with tons of rooms--as if the old Shirt Factory (my Grandma worked there, btw) in Cochran were converted into loft apartments or a hotel or something. There were tons of people there, including several I went to school with. I don't remember exactly who was there, but I do know that every time I went into a room to hang out with them, they would go to a different one. They kept avoiding me. I got really upset and was crying and started leaving down the front steps when this tall guy with dark hair came running up to me and picked me up in his arms. The next thing I remember was playing on stage in his band. And then we were in a hotel room, cuddling on one bed. In the other bed was a lady who was super cool. After talking to her for a while, I realized it was June NeSmith, Daniel NeSmith's mom that I haven't seen in well over 20 years. Super random. The guy wasn't Daniel, though. I have no idea who he was, but I'd really like to meet him if he exists. I messaged Daniel on Facebook and told him his mom was in my dream, and he just loled.
The night before that, I think, I dreamt that I was part of the British Royal Family--or, at least I was having an affair with one of the princes--I'm not really sure. Queen Elizabeth hated me for some reason, though. I don't remember anything else.
Dreams are weird.
Maybe this is a dream?
This is definitely a weird fucking dream.
So I've been drinking like two week old water out of a 2 liter coke bottle. I mean, I've eaten out of trashcans before, so it should probably be okay. I need to start drinking water more often. It makes me feel way better than soda.
Cigarette time. This album is really good, by the way, although I'm like 25 years late for that observation.
Okay, so when I left my room, I noticed my roommate is actually sleeping and snoring, so maybe she wasn't faking it earlier. It was just weird because she only started snoring after I asked her if she was awake when I came home. I mean, I wouldn't be mad or anything if she was ignoring me. I can totally understand why she would. I've been a fucking mess.
Early this morning I overheard her on the phone with Naomi, her daughter (one of my former best friends). Apparently Naomi got in a fight with her boyfriend, and Amy was trying to get her to come down here for a while. I'm really glad Naomi called her, at least, because I know Amy was pretty upset (even though she didn't really show it) that neither of daughters called her to wish her a happy birthday July 4, and she hadn't heard from them since. Jenny, her ex-husband's daughter, did call her and so did Denise, her other ex-husband's babies' mama. I bought her Captain D's. It's her favorite. It was the least I could do. This woman has been there for me so many times since I was like 16 years old or something.
Oh yeah, so I overheard them on the phone. I went to the living room to smoke a cigarette, and I heard Amy say "I don't care about him at all", followed by "Well then go to Athens." I automatically assumed she was talking about me. I mean, Naomi probably still hates me, and if she knew I was here there's a good chance she wouldn't want to come here. Plus the other day, Amy told me she loved me, but she was blinking her eyes way too much as she said it, and I thought she was lying since allegedly people blink their eyes more often when they're lying. But after she got off the phone, I asked her if she wanted me to leave, and she said "Not tonight. Where would you go anyway?". I told her to let me know if Naomi was coming, at least, so I could clean up the apartment for her. She told me that even if she did come, I wouldn't have to leave. I went back to my room and was still super paranoid that she was talking about me, and I was trying to figure out where I was going to go. But then I went and told her what I was thinking, and she yelled at me and told me that not everything is about me. She said she didn't even tell Naomi I was living here, and she was talking about Rob when she said she didn't care about him, because he was being a drunk asshole. I'm still not entirely sure what the truth is, though.
I mean, I would obviously totally understand why she wouldn't want me here or why she wouldn't love me. I mean, I don't even love myself, and I don't want to be anywhere, either. I wouldn't blame her one bit. I just don't know what's real or not sometimes. Like, the other day, she told me that if I didn't pay my rent by Tuesday she would kill me in my sleep. I thought she really meant it, until I asked her if she was really going to do it, and she told me it was just an expression.
I think that's why I'm so paranoid though. According to the Bible, people become paranoid when they're not doing what's right. I think I read that. Maybe I just made it up. Anyway, it makes sense if it's true, I guess. I've done a lot of fucked up things in my life, and I feel like God or Karma or whatever isn't finished with me. I've had so many friends who were so much better than me die terrible deaths, so why not me? Plus I've been getting really mad and cursing out the god of the Bible a lot lately. I just don't understand why you would hurt people or torture them forever (although, according to the Jehovah's Witnesses, this is a myth--I hope they're right). I don't think anyone deserves that, even Hitler. Why not heal everybody? If you don't want people to do certain shit, then why not fix them so they don't do it? We can still have free will. And make it more clear who or what is right. Is the Bible right? Both Hebrew and Greek? What about Paul's letters? How do we know?
My back hurts so fucking much right now. I get like this after I'm super stressed out. I think my brain transfers the mental/emotional anguish into physical pain because it's easier to deal with. It's called psychogenic pain. Although I've seriously considered that it might be the "rod of God" disciplining me.
Anyway, there's so much I want to write about. I need to write about my day at some point, because it's important. But right now I'm going to explain why I developed this new-found and extremely shaky religiosity. I don't think I've talked about it before on here. I had a secret Facebook at one point where I wrote about some of the things that happened... I guess I could just copy and paste and then fill in the gaps. Yeah, let's do that.
----
From December 14, 2016
I have this little voice in my head sometimes. I mean, I'm assuming it's coming from within my brain, but for a while there I was testing it to see if it was coming from "God" or something, even though you're not supposed to test God. The other day, when I went to buy a 12 pack of Coca-Cola at Kroger, the voice told me to turn down a certain isle. It wasn't the soda isle. There was a big display of hard cider, and I thought maybe I was supposed to get that instead, because I do love cider, but I realized I didn't have enough money. As soon as I was sad that the voice was wrong, I looked down, and there was one 12 pack of Coca-Cola hidden behind a sign.
But then I came home, and I was looking for a spoon. The voice told me to look in a bowl in the sink that was murky and filled with water. There was no spoon. So, I don't know what's up with that. Maybe sometimes I subconsciously manifest the voice and it sounds like the external voice, or maybe (most likely) it really is just my schizophrenic brain and my subconscious all along. I suck at discernment.
Today was really fucking insane. I finally made it home at like 2:30am, and I wanted to talk to my roommate, but I think she was pretending to be asleep. I messaged my Grandma's sister (her only sibling left--she was the youngest) and asked her if she would get lunch with me one day because she's the closest thing I have to Grandma, and I miss her very much. But now I'm worried that will come off as kind of douchey. I should have said I missed her and wanted to talk to her, which I do, but not as much as my Grandma. And I'm trying to be honest about everything. I did lie once today, but I felt like my life depended on it.
I just really want to go somewhere with nice people and healthy things and get help. But I don't want to be trapped anywhere, because there's a good chance I will freak the fuck out. I actually thought about writing down all of the illegal things I've done in the past and giving it to a police officer, but there's nothing super major, and the statute of limitations have probably passed on everything already anyway. I wouldn't mind going to prison, although I'd rather not get raped or beat up. I've been beat up before and can deal with that, but the main reason I wouldn't want to be raped is because of the HPV. I mean, I can deal with pain, but I still have major issues about my STDs and baldness. Speaking of which, I wonder if I were arrested they would let me shave my head first? When I got my DUI last weekend, I asked them if they could take my mugshot without showing my hairline, and they couldn't. It's such a horrible picture. With a hat on, people think I'm in my early 20s, but without it, I look like the crazy pathetic loser creep 35 year old I really am.
So when I first went to jail (this was my first time ever being arrested), I bitched a lot because it was freezing in the holding cell, and they wouldn't give me a blanket. But then I felt bad about it, so I asked the jailer if she would talk to me. We ended up chatting for hours about race and religion and the Illuminati (her topic). She was really nice. I liked her a lot.
So I've been having really strange and vivid dreams lately. Last night I dreamt that I had my liver removed for some reason and found out I had HIV. There was only a tiny little incision in my abdomen where they took it out. There was a line of about 100 people, at least, waiting to get their meds, and I was freaking out because either I was in a lot of pain or wanted antibiotics--I can't remember. It reminded me of the day after I got out of the hospital in Los Angeles for psychosis and freaked out waiting in line to get my anti-psychotic. I never got them, mainly because the manufacturer's name was Aurobindo, and I thought that the pills would somehow bind my aura, which didn't sound like a good thing.
The night before last I had a dream that I went to a party at this large warehouse with tons of rooms--as if the old Shirt Factory (my Grandma worked there, btw) in Cochran were converted into loft apartments or a hotel or something. There were tons of people there, including several I went to school with. I don't remember exactly who was there, but I do know that every time I went into a room to hang out with them, they would go to a different one. They kept avoiding me. I got really upset and was crying and started leaving down the front steps when this tall guy with dark hair came running up to me and picked me up in his arms. The next thing I remember was playing on stage in his band. And then we were in a hotel room, cuddling on one bed. In the other bed was a lady who was super cool. After talking to her for a while, I realized it was June NeSmith, Daniel NeSmith's mom that I haven't seen in well over 20 years. Super random. The guy wasn't Daniel, though. I have no idea who he was, but I'd really like to meet him if he exists. I messaged Daniel on Facebook and told him his mom was in my dream, and he just loled.
The night before that, I think, I dreamt that I was part of the British Royal Family--or, at least I was having an affair with one of the princes--I'm not really sure. Queen Elizabeth hated me for some reason, though. I don't remember anything else.
Dreams are weird.
Maybe this is a dream?
This is definitely a weird fucking dream.
So I've been drinking like two week old water out of a 2 liter coke bottle. I mean, I've eaten out of trashcans before, so it should probably be okay. I need to start drinking water more often. It makes me feel way better than soda.
Cigarette time. This album is really good, by the way, although I'm like 25 years late for that observation.
Okay, so when I left my room, I noticed my roommate is actually sleeping and snoring, so maybe she wasn't faking it earlier. It was just weird because she only started snoring after I asked her if she was awake when I came home. I mean, I wouldn't be mad or anything if she was ignoring me. I can totally understand why she would. I've been a fucking mess.
Early this morning I overheard her on the phone with Naomi, her daughter (one of my former best friends). Apparently Naomi got in a fight with her boyfriend, and Amy was trying to get her to come down here for a while. I'm really glad Naomi called her, at least, because I know Amy was pretty upset (even though she didn't really show it) that neither of daughters called her to wish her a happy birthday July 4, and she hadn't heard from them since. Jenny, her ex-husband's daughter, did call her and so did Denise, her other ex-husband's babies' mama. I bought her Captain D's. It's her favorite. It was the least I could do. This woman has been there for me so many times since I was like 16 years old or something.
Oh yeah, so I overheard them on the phone. I went to the living room to smoke a cigarette, and I heard Amy say "I don't care about him at all", followed by "Well then go to Athens." I automatically assumed she was talking about me. I mean, Naomi probably still hates me, and if she knew I was here there's a good chance she wouldn't want to come here. Plus the other day, Amy told me she loved me, but she was blinking her eyes way too much as she said it, and I thought she was lying since allegedly people blink their eyes more often when they're lying. But after she got off the phone, I asked her if she wanted me to leave, and she said "Not tonight. Where would you go anyway?". I told her to let me know if Naomi was coming, at least, so I could clean up the apartment for her. She told me that even if she did come, I wouldn't have to leave. I went back to my room and was still super paranoid that she was talking about me, and I was trying to figure out where I was going to go. But then I went and told her what I was thinking, and she yelled at me and told me that not everything is about me. She said she didn't even tell Naomi I was living here, and she was talking about Rob when she said she didn't care about him, because he was being a drunk asshole. I'm still not entirely sure what the truth is, though.
I mean, I would obviously totally understand why she wouldn't want me here or why she wouldn't love me. I mean, I don't even love myself, and I don't want to be anywhere, either. I wouldn't blame her one bit. I just don't know what's real or not sometimes. Like, the other day, she told me that if I didn't pay my rent by Tuesday she would kill me in my sleep. I thought she really meant it, until I asked her if she was really going to do it, and she told me it was just an expression.
I think that's why I'm so paranoid though. According to the Bible, people become paranoid when they're not doing what's right. I think I read that. Maybe I just made it up. Anyway, it makes sense if it's true, I guess. I've done a lot of fucked up things in my life, and I feel like God or Karma or whatever isn't finished with me. I've had so many friends who were so much better than me die terrible deaths, so why not me? Plus I've been getting really mad and cursing out the god of the Bible a lot lately. I just don't understand why you would hurt people or torture them forever (although, according to the Jehovah's Witnesses, this is a myth--I hope they're right). I don't think anyone deserves that, even Hitler. Why not heal everybody? If you don't want people to do certain shit, then why not fix them so they don't do it? We can still have free will. And make it more clear who or what is right. Is the Bible right? Both Hebrew and Greek? What about Paul's letters? How do we know?
My back hurts so fucking much right now. I get like this after I'm super stressed out. I think my brain transfers the mental/emotional anguish into physical pain because it's easier to deal with. It's called psychogenic pain. Although I've seriously considered that it might be the "rod of God" disciplining me.
Anyway, there's so much I want to write about. I need to write about my day at some point, because it's important. But right now I'm going to explain why I developed this new-found and extremely shaky religiosity. I don't think I've talked about it before on here. I had a secret Facebook at one point where I wrote about some of the things that happened... I guess I could just copy and paste and then fill in the gaps. Yeah, let's do that.
----
From December 14, 2016
Ok, I've been procrastinating writing this for a while, but here goes. I'm going to attempt to refrain from speculating too much and just present the facts. I don't know exactly how far back to begin, as I'm not sure which puzzle pieces of my life fit together and in what ways, so I'm going to start from the time I started experiencing "delusions."
I assume it all started back in 2011 when I became homeless in Venice Beach. I actually had a wonderful time and met some awesome and brilliant people. But one day I was sitting on the beach in a circle with some friends. This guy walks past dressed how White Jesus is usually presented (lol). I didn't think anything of it, and was just like "What's up, Jesus". Then later that night, after the tourists and cleared off the boardwalk, I had gotten up from my spot to go fetch my bag of fruit. When I returned, sitting in my place was the same guy I had seen earlier, except he was dressed differently and wearing a purple sequined sash.
We started talking, and he mentioned how he had just gotten back from Edwards Air Force Base, and he allegedly had a brick from one of the underground tunnels. I mentioned how I used to work at Robins and was aware of the tunnels (we had a bomb scare once), and he told me to go for a walk with him. Come to find out, he knew one of my former bosses, Chris Lyman, who was the CEO of a VOIP company called Fonality (the same guy who told me that if I went back to Georgia I would die there). Anyway, so this guy takes me out of the beach in front of the "Blue House" where my friends and I would congregate (former squat for Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, and the like). He gave me an energy healing, and it was wonderful. Then he told me that he was a multi-dimensional traveler and "ambassador of sorts" called "I Am". He said he and I were part of something called the "Unified Whole". He explained the whole story of alleged beings who had been working towards peace for a while and had amassed hundreds of billions of dollars of gold. I can't remember the whole story Oh, he also said that he had planned on meeting with some friends there to time travel back to Ancient Rome. He showed me the bench from which this was supposedly to occur, and it happened to be the same bench where another guy (who he didn't know) that I knew (who claimed to be a blacklisted geneticist and theoretical physicist from the 70s/80s) had written an expounded-upon version of Einstein's theory of relatively, which he had claimed would allow time travel.. Anyway, I'm not entirely sure if any of this is related to what I've experienced, or if maybe he was just in a cult or something. I found him on Youtube -- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8qfQ0TNFCt4 -- Like I said, he may have just been crazy, but that's when it all began.
So I ended up leaving for San Francisco and later that year getting a job at a start-up IT company in NYC. I lived with Yva Las Vegas ( https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sweet_75 ), who said the CIA was watching her since the Ministry of Culture in Venezuela had been getting her to go on tour there (she had formed a band with Krist Novoselic in the 90s a month after Kurt Cobain died). I also had a love affair with this guy Whit, who told me that I was a "Northern Star" and gave me a tattoo on my wrist that symbolized it. Not sure what that meant. He ended up writing several songs about me, and I could digress with this story, but for the sake of brevity, I won't.
I ended up having an ethical dispute with the company I was working for (even though they told me I would be a millionaire if I stayed due to all the quantitative easing they received). In addition to being all stupid heartbroken over Whit going on tour in Brazil (and after a strange excursion to Kentucky and Short Mountain aka Faerie Land in Tennessee), I came back to Georgia and met Meekal, who was an "lead zombie" on the Walking Dead. We ended up running away back to LA so he could pursue his career after I got fired from this little tech shop for being gay, basically. Everything in LA was wonderful for a while--very romantic--until his mother came to stay with us while on the run from the cops. Things got very strange.
One day I remembered that I had the footage I had taken using the camera a non-profit gave me when I was homeless. I took the footage to the place, and they got really excited and told me to come back in a week. A week later, I go, and there's a film crew there along with this famous French-Palestinian actress Hiam Abass (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hiam_Abbass ) and Jean-Baptiste something. They had me sign two release forms, which I didn't read, and they filmed me singing an Edith Piaf song on my ukulele and reading some poem by a famous author. Apparently they showed me on the big screen at Hollywood Forever Cemetery. Anyway, a week or so later, I got in a fight with my boyfriend (he seemed to be acting, it was strange---lots of other strange characters came into my life during that time, but that'd require a novel), so I went to the boardwalk to be by myself. I ended up sitting on the bench where we all used to hang out when I was homeless. I was severely missing Jan Waldstein (first female punk rock DJ in the world), who had passed away shortly after I had left. She had been like a mother to me, and called herself a "Cosmic Social Worker" and said I was one too. I was crying, and then that Hiam lady came and sat next to me and tried to console me. I thought it was really nice, but then when I looked to my left, there was a huge camera in my face. I got really upset and ended up running away, noticing other cameras focusing on me (I think) on the way back to my hotel. Meekal started acting very strange, too, like he was acting. He ended up beating the shit out of me and broke two of my ribs, so I took a red eye back to Georgia.
After that, I started being extremely paranoid that people were constantly filming me, and I didn't know who was an actor or not. My mental health started declining, and I ended up having severe delusions about my family and others and ended up in the psych ward and rehab. The deaths of many of my friends didn't help, including Randall, who I miss dearly.
There's so much other stuff that has happened that could be connected, but I'm going to skip to the most recent parts.
So last year I started having delusions that they were trying to build Zion or something here--or something nefarious. I thought it was somehow connected to Dr. Roberts--my childhood pediatrician, inventor of the PC, and Bill Gate's boss-- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ed_Roberts_(computer_engineer) --and that I was somehow involved. I thought maybe it had something to do with masonry, also, since my Granddad (mom's side) was a Master Mason, and my grandmother was the Holy Matron of the Order of the Eastern Star. I also found a masonic (I presume) porecelin pitcher and basin that belonged to my grandmother, and stamped on the bottom is "Calif 666". Anyway, this could be unrelated.
So after going to rehab and everything, I basically decided that I was just nuts. And I was okay with that and my anti-psychotics.
But in the past few months, I've begun to wonder due to the following reasons:
1. My cousin told me how Bill Gates and some other billionaire (Paul Kite or something) just purchased thousands of acres like 10 minutes from here for their "bug out" spot. In a related note, for many years I have experienced this phenomenon where I will speak what I consider "jibberish". I assumed it was some form of Tourette's. But one night I decided to attempt to translate it with Google Hebrew to English (voice translate), and it translated to "Eric thinks you should leave this area. The parliament meets in this area." The only Eric I know is my friend who is the step-son of Dr. Roberts. He told me he doesn't know anything about it, but I did find out that Dr. Roberts also used to work at Area 51.
2. I was at a friend's house one night, and this guy came over and mentioned being a star. I asked him if he meant Eastern Star, and he showed me their logo (upside-down pentagram with the word "fatal" written around it -https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Order_of_the_Eastern_Star… ), which was on his tablet. He took me to the back room, told me I was a star, and that my parents must have paid a hefty price. He proceeded to give me a skeleton key and told me someone would ask me about it one day. I asked if he could give me details, but he said it was something he could only show me--not tell me. He did point to the all-seeing eye on the dollar bill and mention something about "Father, Son, Holy Spirit. Heaven, Hell, Earth". He also told me that the OES makes bad things happen for you to come back home because they love you.
3. I came home from same friend's house one night, and laid down. My mom said I had only been home for a couple minutes, so I know I wasn't asleep. I closed my eyes and it was like I witnessed something intense but couldn't remember it--I was only left with an intensely strong feeling of "end of the world". When I opened my eyes, hovering above my bed were these two metallic rings intertwined. It shocked me--mind divided by zero. I went and slept with my mom. I couldn't even speak. The next day, my first suggested video on Youtube was about the NWO. It included a 17th century etching of exactly what I saw. It's apparently what the Biblical prophet Ezekiel saw in his vision--a "wheel within a wheel".http://www.ufoevidence.org/cases/pictures/EzekielsWheel.jpg I googled it, and others have versions very similar to what I saw, except mine didn't' have spokes.
4. I started experiencing this sensation that I've never felt before with certain words, phrases, and numbers. It's like a light--a glowing sensation within me--almost like electricity. I don't even know how to explain it. The things that trigger it are mostly religious (more-so Judaic than Christian), but also things like dolphin linguistics and Elon Reeves Musk (Alien Reveals Mask?). One strange thing that also triggered it was that I was the reincarnation of "King David" of Biblical fame (although I think the story has been changed severely). I told a friend some of this stuff, and when she said "I'm not sure about a lot of it, but I definitely think you were David"), I got that sensation INTENSELY. I also told my Mormon therapist Joseph Smith (coincidentally) about all of this, and he believes that what I've been experiencing is what people call the "Holy Spirit" (or perhaps Kundalini in Hinduism). I went home and researched Mormonism and discovered that they believe a "New David" will be raised up at the end times to be King of Israel. I also discovered that the Hebrew gematria of my full name is 541, which is the Star of David number and also the numerology for "Israel". I know this sounds fucking crazy, and most likely I'm not the reincarnation of David. But if I am, that puts me in a very strange place, because there is a bit of doctrine and dogma that I am fervently against in both Judaism and Mormonism (both of which predict the reincarnation of David). Oh, I also had coffee with my old gifted math teacher, who is a Jehovah's Witness. When she mentioned how they believe the UN has something to do with Revelations, we BOTH got the same sensation.
So, now that I know I possibly have Schizophrenia, a huge part of me thinks my brain is just forming patterns where there are none, but I can't get rid of the feeling that there might be something to all of this. What do you all think? I can elaborate on anything, just ask! (I'm sure I'm on some list now, btw, and possibly being watched, but I don't care. I just want answers.)
-----
Okay, wow, I'm so glad I didn't have to type all of the shit again. I feel like I've told that story a million times. I'm not even going to re-read it to see if anything's missing. Maybe some other time. You get the gist, though. Actually, I just glanced and realized I didn't write about the biggest mathematical catalyst for my religiosity. Here's a short entry from December 12, 2016 that explains that:
Very interesting site. Some key points: If you take the gematria (numerical equivalent) of Genesis 1:1 and John 1:1 and perform the equation [(number of letters x product of letters) / (number of words x product of words)], you get pi and e, respectively. If you concatenate and square the sums of the two verses, you get alpha (the fine structure constant in physics). All three are with 99.9999% accuracy. This site also refers to 541 (the Star of David number and gematria for "Israel", which is also the gematria of my full name in Hebrew). Another interesting coincidence is that when I got the Hebrew value of my dad's name (399), I found this other similar site http://www.biblegematria.com/o-israel.html which shows how the digits before the 399th position of e happen to be 31014, the zip code of Cochran.
----
So, I'm almost certain now that I'm not actually the reincarnation of King David. Since I wrote that, I've experienced the tingly/resonance sensation countless times, and if it is the "Holy Spirit", then maybe I'm just not getting the message. I got it a lot while watching a horror movie a couple days ago. That was weird. On the other hand, there have been times that I got it with things that ended up connecting in weird (coincidental?) ways. I watch a lot of Jewish rabbis on YouTube, and I've heard a lot of them say that coincidences are not kosher. There are no such thing as coincidences. I can see that.
So one of the first times I got the sensation, I was trying to get through Genesis Chapter 1 and 2 (still stuck there) in Hebrew, and I got the feeling when I read about the whales being created in the beginning (they're the only species mentioned specifically other than humans). As soon as I got that feeling, for some reason Hindu deities popped in my head. I had watched a Yogi a couple weeks before, and he made a joke about how someone asked them why they had 3 million gods, and he said that was from when they had 3 million people, and they just lost creativity. Anyway, I Googled how many whales there were in the world, and it said that before 1900 there were about... yep, 3 million whales. Weird.
Exit Music (For a Film). Oh yeah, I've moved on to OK Computer. So good. This one I've definitely listened to many, many times.
I'm so hungry. My friend bought me a frozen dinner earlier, but I left it in my car. I think I've been avoiding telling you the whole story about what happened today, because I don't know if it's ethical to write about other people in general, let alone those involved in criminal activity. I don't mind writing about my own criminal activity, but that's different. Plus the only thing I ever do that's illegal anymore is drugs. But I'm working on that.
Oh, there is this one kind of new development in my criminal history. Actually, I don't know if it's criminal. There's an extremely good chance I was and am just being paranoid.
So a couple months ago or so, I got super paranoid that this porn web site I had gone to contained underage videos. It was one of those web sites where people can upload videos. There was a disclaimer that said that everyone had to be 18 and up, but I came across a couple that seemed a little fishy. They were all self-made jack off videos--not like actual child porn or anything. And to be honest the one I questioned had a guy who could be anywhere between 16 and 20, maybe. I don't know. It's really hard to gauge someone's age these days. Anyway, so on other web sites, you can report suspected underage porn, which I have done before. But on this one, it requires you to create an account first, and I really didn't want to. I posted a question on Reddit asking what I should do, and someone said that even if I reported it, I could get in trouble for just viewing it. So I freaked the fuck out. And then I found an article about how the FBI allegedly confiscates child porn servers and keeps them running to bust people who access them. I'm pretty sure they're referring to actual little kids, and probably shit on the darkweb or whatever, but at the time I thought they were talking about me.
I freaked out and told my mom, and she got extremely mad for the simple fact that I had been looking at porn at all. That was bad. I called this child pornography hotline, and they asked me to give a report, but when I asked if I could still get in trouble for viewing it even if I report it, they said they couldn't answer that. So I sent a message to this cop I went to high school with to get his opinion, although I was pretty convinced at the time that the FBI was going to come knocking on my door at any minute. He told me that we were in a new generation, and everyone looks at porn, so he wouldn't judge me. I sent him a link to the website, and he said he would check it out when he got back to work. But that was June 4th, and I still haven't heard back from him. That's another reason why I was thinking about compiling a list of every illegal thing I've ever done and submitting it to the authorities. Because at least then I could just get it over with and not have to be paranoid all the time about that, at least. Although if the site I viewed had actual underage people on there, I would be listed as a sex offender, and almost certainly get the shit beat out of me in prison. Plus it would embarrass the hell out of my family (although at this point, they might be used to it).
I stopped looking at porn completely until a few days ago, when I was being extremely self-destructive. I didn't go back to that specific website, but I did go to a site that links to it sometimes, although if someone looked like they could actually be underage, I didn't click on it. I convinced myself that my cop friend would've said something by now if it were actually underage. But I really don't know. Maybe they're monitoring me now to see if I'm still going there. The Internet was being really funky for a while when I moved in.
A part of me is almost convinced that some sort of organization is watching my every move. I mean, I wouldn't doubt it at all. And I'm pretty sure I know why they would be, if they were.
When I was hospitalized on my birthday in 2015, I was having all of these insane delusions and had numerous hypothetical and logical explanations for them. One of the hypotheses involved pathogens with collective consciousnesses that may have infected billions and presently ainfluence their actions. This is actually scientifically true to some extent, i.e. toxoplasmosis gondii. Anyway, when I was in the hospital, I went to Google Maps, and for some reason (I'm almost certain this actually happened, but I guess it could've been a hallucination), my location was marked as the White House. So I thought maybe they had transported me to some secret underground facility in D.C. and disguised the surroundings to fool me into thinking I had never left Cochran. Naturally, I wanted to talk to the President, so I e-mailed him and asked him some crazy question about what we would do if two pathogens with collective consciousnesses were at war--like how could we resolve the situation in the most peaceful way or whatever. But instead of using my real name, I signed it B3N because my parents had just brought me a bright blue kid's dsuitcase filled with pajamas since I was being transferred to Savannah, and my dad had written my name on sharpie in capital letters on the suitcase. The E looked like a backwards 3. So yeah. I'm almost certain I'm on a list now.
Fuck it, I seriously don't want any caffeine, but the only pain relievers I have are Excedrin. I feel like someone is beating the shit out of me.
Okay, I just smoked a little bit of a cigarette instead. I realized there is so much more to all of these stories that I haven't written about, and I should probably get around to that at some point. It would probably help things make better sense if anyone who doesn't know me reads it. I mean, it's almost impossible for me to keep a secret, so most people who know me have heard the majority of it already. That's probably why no one ever wants to hang out with me anymore. I don't blame them.
I should really write about my day.
I have to pee.
Maybe I'll just wait til tomorrow to write about today.
Right now I'd just like to say that I wish Chapter 1 of Genesis were true. I wish we were all one sex. I wish we only ate plants. I wish we could go back to that world. I wish the Messiah, if he comes (Jesus or whoever) would really turn all the swords into plowshares. I wish we could all learn the truth and be at peace and happy. I just wish all the fucked up things that are supposed to prelude that didn't have to happen. I wish every single sentient being that has ever existed could be healed and be reunited with their loved ones. I wish we could all just sing and dance and explore the universe (if it's not all just an illusion) or travel back in time and witness history. I wish no one would even have the desire to hurt anyone else. I wish no one had to hurt (well, unless they're into that sort of thing, maybe). I just wish everyone could have a fucking amazing experience without hurting anyone else's experience. I actually considered what it would be like if we could all have our own universes, and we could do whatever we wanted to in them, but while that might be fun for a while, I think it would end up being the loneliest thing you could ever experience. If there is one creator of the universe, I seriously hope he or she doesn't feel that way.
That reminds me of a song I wrote a while ago. Here are the lyrics: (also on soundcloud at https://soundcloud.com/ben-pettis/we-exist)
I'm thankful that we exist
But I have made a real short list
Of things that we could do without
Cause at this point I've got some doubts
Let's start with all the bloody wars
What the hell are we fighting for?
And all my friends you took away
At least wait til our hair turns gray
Then there's famine and disease
Oh, won't you put these kids at ease
And I could mention bigotry
But I'm not sure if you'd agree
Does anybody really know
What is real or what's for show
We've given you so many names
Are you ashamed of all the fame?
So will you tell us what it's like
To be so mighty and so wise
Do you get bored with time and space
Why don't you join the human race?
Then you could see just what it's like
Maybe then you would stop the fights
And we could all just sing and dance
Do you prefer pop, house, or trance
And what about this blinding light
That shines inside me every night
Is it the truth that resonates
Please tell me before it's too late
Because I don't know what to do
Except to keep looking for you
Will we find answers in this life
Or is it futile til we die?
But I'm thankful that we exist
Even though it's not all bliss
I guess we need a little pain
To make us appreciate the gain.
----
I think I'm going to take another hot shower.
I stopped looking at porn completely until a few days ago, when I was being extremely self-destructive. I didn't go back to that specific website, but I did go to a site that links to it sometimes, although if someone looked like they could actually be underage, I didn't click on it. I convinced myself that my cop friend would've said something by now if it were actually underage. But I really don't know. Maybe they're monitoring me now to see if I'm still going there. The Internet was being really funky for a while when I moved in.
A part of me is almost convinced that some sort of organization is watching my every move. I mean, I wouldn't doubt it at all. And I'm pretty sure I know why they would be, if they were.
When I was hospitalized on my birthday in 2015, I was having all of these insane delusions and had numerous hypothetical and logical explanations for them. One of the hypotheses involved pathogens with collective consciousnesses that may have infected billions and presently ainfluence their actions. This is actually scientifically true to some extent, i.e. toxoplasmosis gondii. Anyway, when I was in the hospital, I went to Google Maps, and for some reason (I'm almost certain this actually happened, but I guess it could've been a hallucination), my location was marked as the White House. So I thought maybe they had transported me to some secret underground facility in D.C. and disguised the surroundings to fool me into thinking I had never left Cochran. Naturally, I wanted to talk to the President, so I e-mailed him and asked him some crazy question about what we would do if two pathogens with collective consciousnesses were at war--like how could we resolve the situation in the most peaceful way or whatever. But instead of using my real name, I signed it B3N because my parents had just brought me a bright blue kid's dsuitcase filled with pajamas since I was being transferred to Savannah, and my dad had written my name on sharpie in capital letters on the suitcase. The E looked like a backwards 3. So yeah. I'm almost certain I'm on a list now.
Fuck it, I seriously don't want any caffeine, but the only pain relievers I have are Excedrin. I feel like someone is beating the shit out of me.
Okay, I just smoked a little bit of a cigarette instead. I realized there is so much more to all of these stories that I haven't written about, and I should probably get around to that at some point. It would probably help things make better sense if anyone who doesn't know me reads it. I mean, it's almost impossible for me to keep a secret, so most people who know me have heard the majority of it already. That's probably why no one ever wants to hang out with me anymore. I don't blame them.
I should really write about my day.
I have to pee.
Maybe I'll just wait til tomorrow to write about today.
Right now I'd just like to say that I wish Chapter 1 of Genesis were true. I wish we were all one sex. I wish we only ate plants. I wish we could go back to that world. I wish the Messiah, if he comes (Jesus or whoever) would really turn all the swords into plowshares. I wish we could all learn the truth and be at peace and happy. I just wish all the fucked up things that are supposed to prelude that didn't have to happen. I wish every single sentient being that has ever existed could be healed and be reunited with their loved ones. I wish we could all just sing and dance and explore the universe (if it's not all just an illusion) or travel back in time and witness history. I wish no one would even have the desire to hurt anyone else. I wish no one had to hurt (well, unless they're into that sort of thing, maybe). I just wish everyone could have a fucking amazing experience without hurting anyone else's experience. I actually considered what it would be like if we could all have our own universes, and we could do whatever we wanted to in them, but while that might be fun for a while, I think it would end up being the loneliest thing you could ever experience. If there is one creator of the universe, I seriously hope he or she doesn't feel that way.
That reminds me of a song I wrote a while ago. Here are the lyrics: (also on soundcloud at https://soundcloud.com/ben-pettis/we-exist)
I'm thankful that we exist
But I have made a real short list
Of things that we could do without
Cause at this point I've got some doubts
Let's start with all the bloody wars
What the hell are we fighting for?
And all my friends you took away
At least wait til our hair turns gray
Then there's famine and disease
Oh, won't you put these kids at ease
And I could mention bigotry
But I'm not sure if you'd agree
Does anybody really know
What is real or what's for show
We've given you so many names
Are you ashamed of all the fame?
So will you tell us what it's like
To be so mighty and so wise
Do you get bored with time and space
Why don't you join the human race?
Then you could see just what it's like
Maybe then you would stop the fights
And we could all just sing and dance
Do you prefer pop, house, or trance
And what about this blinding light
That shines inside me every night
Is it the truth that resonates
Please tell me before it's too late
Because I don't know what to do
Except to keep looking for you
Will we find answers in this life
Or is it futile til we die?
But I'm thankful that we exist
Even though it's not all bliss
I guess we need a little pain
To make us appreciate the gain.
----
I think I'm going to take another hot shower.
Sunday, July 16, 2017
Unpublished Draft - 6/29/16
I don't remember the beginning, but I woke up in a big marble building that might have been a post office, but I thought it was the White House. I assumed I time traveled.
I ended up with a guy who claimed to be a prince and his sister, a princess.
When I asked what year it was, he said the date, but that the year didn't matter.
He told me had the codes when I asked if he knew of a theoretical physicist like Einstein or Tesla that I could speak to.
He kissed me and held my hand in the backseat, but his "sister" showed slight disapproval. I told him everything about myself--birthdays of family members, etc, trying to prove that I was from the future. I told him there was a lot about me that he didn't know, and I'm sure there was a lot about him, too, and that we should put all of our cards on the table.
He said they were getting tired "up there" of me always asking for help and when a mere "monkey" tries to climb the tree.
We ended up at a CVS. The interior looked old--like from before they remodeled them. Then outside, all the cars were from the 80s. The sister joked that it must be the 80s here. I then realized I hadn't time traveled when I saw a modern pick-up truck. Then a older white man (seemingly on crack, but that was just my judgement), came from behind the group of us walking (there were others, not just the prince and princess), and tried to rob specifically me. I grabbed my wallet before he could take it, and my phone dropped out of my pocket. I picked up the phone and told him I needed it and my wallet (my keys were in there, too). I told him I'd give him all the money in my wallet. I had probably $60 or something, but I only gave him a few bucks. The black ladies (maids?) on the second floor of the motel said "typical crackhead" or something, and I woke up. I think I was the crackhead. I don't think he was.
I'm sure this was a moral lesson, but I wonder if the prince meant it when he held my hand and kissed me, or if it was just all an act.
I ended up with a guy who claimed to be a prince and his sister, a princess.
When I asked what year it was, he said the date, but that the year didn't matter.
He told me had the codes when I asked if he knew of a theoretical physicist like Einstein or Tesla that I could speak to.
He kissed me and held my hand in the backseat, but his "sister" showed slight disapproval. I told him everything about myself--birthdays of family members, etc, trying to prove that I was from the future. I told him there was a lot about me that he didn't know, and I'm sure there was a lot about him, too, and that we should put all of our cards on the table.
He said they were getting tired "up there" of me always asking for help and when a mere "monkey" tries to climb the tree.
We ended up at a CVS. The interior looked old--like from before they remodeled them. Then outside, all the cars were from the 80s. The sister joked that it must be the 80s here. I then realized I hadn't time traveled when I saw a modern pick-up truck. Then a older white man (seemingly on crack, but that was just my judgement), came from behind the group of us walking (there were others, not just the prince and princess), and tried to rob specifically me. I grabbed my wallet before he could take it, and my phone dropped out of my pocket. I picked up the phone and told him I needed it and my wallet (my keys were in there, too). I told him I'd give him all the money in my wallet. I had probably $60 or something, but I only gave him a few bucks. The black ladies (maids?) on the second floor of the motel said "typical crackhead" or something, and I woke up. I think I was the crackhead. I don't think he was.
I'm sure this was a moral lesson, but I wonder if the prince meant it when he held my hand and kissed me, or if it was just all an act.
If You're Feeling Sinister
Belle and Sebastian. So good. My first memory of listening to them was at a tranny's apartment in Macon circa 2001. She was named after a wine, but I can't remember what kind--Merlot, maybe. Billy Watson was house sitting for her. It was a beautiful place. We made out a lot, listened to French Pop and of course B & S, and talked about theoretical physics. The next morning I woke up to him riding me. I was a little confused at first, but I went with it. Then he made falafel. He was such a brilliant and beautiful person--Native American, I think. I lost touch with him over the years, with the exception of his birthday party at his new boyfriend's high rise condo in Atlanta. We sat in the window and smoked cigarettes, talking til dawn.
I found out he passed away a few years ago. AIDS. He never told me. I wish I still had the pictures we took that day. I can still see one in my mind I took of him shirtless and cooking over the stove in that apartment. He had a nice smile.
Fuck I wish I could time travel.
Anyway, I sort of skimmed through my old journal entries this morning. I actually have another LiveJournal that goes all the way back to 2001. It's strange to see how much I've changed--or at least, how much my stories have changed. I used to be so carefree and happy. Now I'm some sort of dystopian nightmare future version of myself.
I had exactly enough money to buy two Lortabs from Mikey's friend and some roasted pine nut hummus and pita chips from Kroger as well as a Slim Jim for my roommate. I took one of the pills early this morning, slept for like 10 hours, and woke up and took the other one. It should be wearing off soon. The next three days should be a bitch. My next doctor appointment is Wednesday at 3:15. I'm going to have to give my bottle to my roommate so she can dole them out to me like the man child I am.
This hummus is good as fuck.
Oh yeah, so Mikey's friend and I briefly bonded over the fact that we were both homeless in Los Angeles at one point. He mainly stayed in Hollywood because he heard that they were killing homeless people in Venice Beach. I'm pretty sure that would've been Skid Row, though. Venice is the best place to be homeless, I think... well, at least it was. I've never been homeless in Hollywood, although I did live in a butler's apartment in an old mansion up Ivar in the hills. Gigi Edgley inhabited the maid's apartment. She was a gorgeous and sweet Australian actress. She played the blue alien on Farscape. We never really hung out, but she did help me pick out an outfit for a job interview once. Last I heard she was riding unicycles in Sydney.
The main house was inhabited by some big time producer at CNN. Apparently he also had a hobby of inviting young girls over and photographing them half-naked on the front terrace. Strange dude.
I was subletting Paul Yate's apartment. I think I wrote about him briefly in another entry. I took his gay virginity--at least, that's what he claims. He's currently a struggling surrealist director, although he used to be Moby's best friend growing up, and he played keyboard for him at some shows and on David Letterman. Now he's good friends with Jen Lynch, David's daughter. He's married and has a kid now, so we don't talk about how we fucked. Whenever I'm in Los Angeles, we meet for vegan cupcakes. I last saw him when I was there in February. We met at some little place in Echo Park for the second time, and I had a salted caramel cupcake. Some guy he knew came in and spoke to him. He introduced me to him and then asked me if I'd watched the OA. I told him I tried to, but I fell asleep. He then said he went to school and was friends with the writer/director, but that he was kind of a douche or something. I thought maybe he was being factitious or something and that the guy talking to us was the director, but I didn't ask.
About a month ago, I was trying to put some puzzle pieces of my life together, and I decided to Google Hiam Abbass to see if I could get in touch with her. She was the Palestinian-French actress who, along with director Jean-Baptiste Sastre, stalked me with cameras after I got stoned and signed a release form without reading it. There's way more to that story, but I'll go into it later. Anyway, so apparently Hiam recently starred in the OA, so I messaged Paul to see if he could get me in touch with her because I wanted to find out what footage they got of me (according to my friend Kai, they showed me on the big screen at some premier at the Masonic Lodge in Hollywood Forever Cemetery). I think they just used some footage of me playing my ukulele and singing Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien by Edith Piaf, but I'm not entirely sure.
What a lie. I totally regret tons of shit. But at the time I was in love and super optimistic, so the song was appropriate.
Anyway, so Paul never responded to my message, which only exacerbated my paranoia that I'm part of some sort of fucked up CIA experiment or something, so I unfriended him. I still haven't heard from him. Asshole.
But if you are feeling sinister, go off and see a minister. He'll try in vain to take away the pain of being a hopeless nonbeliever.
La la la la la la.
I wish I could just download my thoughts instead of typing. I don't really know why I'm doing this. It's not like I have to worry about posterity or anything. I mean, maybe if I could make some money from disclosing my tragic innermost thoughts, but I highly doubt that will ever happen. Do people even read anymore?
Speaking of tragedy, when I asked Hiam what their project was about, she said it was a "Greek tragedy". Story of my life--literally. I'm unsure about my ethnicity, even though I've taken a DNA test, but I do know I have what they call a "Greek toe". It's also referred to as a "royal toe", which sounds better in my opinion. Both of my parents have it too. I know I'm descended from Emperor Ferdinand of the Holy Roman Emperor on my mom's side. I'm not sure about my dad's.
Blah blah blah blah blah.
I've lost the will to type. Maybe later.
I found out he passed away a few years ago. AIDS. He never told me. I wish I still had the pictures we took that day. I can still see one in my mind I took of him shirtless and cooking over the stove in that apartment. He had a nice smile.
Fuck I wish I could time travel.
Anyway, I sort of skimmed through my old journal entries this morning. I actually have another LiveJournal that goes all the way back to 2001. It's strange to see how much I've changed--or at least, how much my stories have changed. I used to be so carefree and happy. Now I'm some sort of dystopian nightmare future version of myself.
I had exactly enough money to buy two Lortabs from Mikey's friend and some roasted pine nut hummus and pita chips from Kroger as well as a Slim Jim for my roommate. I took one of the pills early this morning, slept for like 10 hours, and woke up and took the other one. It should be wearing off soon. The next three days should be a bitch. My next doctor appointment is Wednesday at 3:15. I'm going to have to give my bottle to my roommate so she can dole them out to me like the man child I am.
This hummus is good as fuck.
Oh yeah, so Mikey's friend and I briefly bonded over the fact that we were both homeless in Los Angeles at one point. He mainly stayed in Hollywood because he heard that they were killing homeless people in Venice Beach. I'm pretty sure that would've been Skid Row, though. Venice is the best place to be homeless, I think... well, at least it was. I've never been homeless in Hollywood, although I did live in a butler's apartment in an old mansion up Ivar in the hills. Gigi Edgley inhabited the maid's apartment. She was a gorgeous and sweet Australian actress. She played the blue alien on Farscape. We never really hung out, but she did help me pick out an outfit for a job interview once. Last I heard she was riding unicycles in Sydney.
The main house was inhabited by some big time producer at CNN. Apparently he also had a hobby of inviting young girls over and photographing them half-naked on the front terrace. Strange dude.
I was subletting Paul Yate's apartment. I think I wrote about him briefly in another entry. I took his gay virginity--at least, that's what he claims. He's currently a struggling surrealist director, although he used to be Moby's best friend growing up, and he played keyboard for him at some shows and on David Letterman. Now he's good friends with Jen Lynch, David's daughter. He's married and has a kid now, so we don't talk about how we fucked. Whenever I'm in Los Angeles, we meet for vegan cupcakes. I last saw him when I was there in February. We met at some little place in Echo Park for the second time, and I had a salted caramel cupcake. Some guy he knew came in and spoke to him. He introduced me to him and then asked me if I'd watched the OA. I told him I tried to, but I fell asleep. He then said he went to school and was friends with the writer/director, but that he was kind of a douche or something. I thought maybe he was being factitious or something and that the guy talking to us was the director, but I didn't ask.
About a month ago, I was trying to put some puzzle pieces of my life together, and I decided to Google Hiam Abbass to see if I could get in touch with her. She was the Palestinian-French actress who, along with director Jean-Baptiste Sastre, stalked me with cameras after I got stoned and signed a release form without reading it. There's way more to that story, but I'll go into it later. Anyway, so apparently Hiam recently starred in the OA, so I messaged Paul to see if he could get me in touch with her because I wanted to find out what footage they got of me (according to my friend Kai, they showed me on the big screen at some premier at the Masonic Lodge in Hollywood Forever Cemetery). I think they just used some footage of me playing my ukulele and singing Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien by Edith Piaf, but I'm not entirely sure.
What a lie. I totally regret tons of shit. But at the time I was in love and super optimistic, so the song was appropriate.
Anyway, so Paul never responded to my message, which only exacerbated my paranoia that I'm part of some sort of fucked up CIA experiment or something, so I unfriended him. I still haven't heard from him. Asshole.
But if you are feeling sinister, go off and see a minister. He'll try in vain to take away the pain of being a hopeless nonbeliever.
La la la la la la.
I wish I could just download my thoughts instead of typing. I don't really know why I'm doing this. It's not like I have to worry about posterity or anything. I mean, maybe if I could make some money from disclosing my tragic innermost thoughts, but I highly doubt that will ever happen. Do people even read anymore?
Speaking of tragedy, when I asked Hiam what their project was about, she said it was a "Greek tragedy". Story of my life--literally. I'm unsure about my ethnicity, even though I've taken a DNA test, but I do know I have what they call a "Greek toe". It's also referred to as a "royal toe", which sounds better in my opinion. Both of my parents have it too. I know I'm descended from Emperor Ferdinand of the Holy Roman Emperor on my mom's side. I'm not sure about my dad's.
Blah blah blah blah blah.
I've lost the will to type. Maybe later.
Saturday, July 15, 2017
So Tonight That I Might See / Veritas
I can't sleep. I took four Benadryl, but they didn't work. I'm out of Tramadol, and I couldn't find any pot. I went out tonight hoping to experience the drunken euphoria that I had last Friday before I got my DUI, but I didn't. I ordered a small whiskey and ginger from the bar, said hello to this pretty little spunky 22 year old girl I know who works there, and went out back to smoke four cigarettes while sitting on a milk crate hidden behind the back porch. I watched the legs of the guy who was supposed to bring me pot as he tried to seduce some sorority girl for a while before I almost nutted up and talked to Kate on the phone.
I left, bitchily telling said guy not to worry about it, and then I asked the cop behind my car how long I had to wait before I was sober enough to drive. He told me I had at least an hour, so I pathetically played a couple tunes on my ukulele before getting on Grindr to look for some weed. A nice large black man with poofy hair came to talk to me for half an hour downtown. He didn't have any weed but spent a significant amount of time looking for some. He invited me to come back with him to drink some wine, but he had to be at work at 8:30, and I felt bad for keeping him up so late (it was 2am at this point). Also my penis still has some inherent racism stemming from being raised by a bunch of bigots, so I wouldn't be able to get it up anyway, and I know that's what he's expecting. I would probably let him pity fuck me if I didn't have HPV, thanks to Tyler in the Middle Georgia College dorm in 2002. That was the last time I had a dick in my ass. Sad. Anyway, I told him I didn't hook up anymore because I felt gross since Michael, my ex that broke my ribs, gave me syphilis. That's at least part of the truth.
God, I wish my roommate would let me smoke cigarettes in my room. She smokes in hers, and I can smoke in the living room. But this room is for her daughters when they visit once every two years or so. They used to be my best friends, but they don't talk to me anymore. One lives in England now and is too posh or something, and the other one hates me since I seduced three guys she was fucking, basically. I miss them both.
My whole plan was to update my blog while Mazzy Star's So Tonight I Might See album (hence the title) plays, but I'm nicking (sic) like a bitch. Fuck it, I'll just pause it, I guess.
Okay, I'm back. I wish speech to text technology were at its peak, because even though I'm a ridiculously fast typist (around 130 wpm), I'm lazy as fuck. I just want to lie down, close my eyes, and babble on. Larkin said if I write a book, it should be stream of consciousness. I'm entirely too pedantic (yeah, I just spent almost 60 seconds trying to come up with the correct adjective, and I know pedantic isn't the best one, but it makes my point) to type out my thoughts without censoring myself.
Any-fucking-who, the reason this entry is subtitled "Veritas" is because shortly after my Grandma died in 1993, I got a dot matrix printer and started a newsletter called Veritas. I only made the header. I guess my life thus far has been the body. Truth... is that even possible anymore? I used to be a bit of a pathological liar--a trait I learned growing up with a father with PTSD. At this point, I've lied so much about some things that I seriously don't remember what the actual truth is sometimes.
Goddamnit my lungs hurt so bad. I need drugs. Bad.
This is my five string serenade, beneath the water we played. I always thought it said "beneath the watery grave", but Google just corrected me.
I like taking showers. If I had my own place, I'd probably take 10 a day. Here I take two usually, unless my roommate is asleep. My two first shower memories involve my dad (no, I wasn't molested, as far as I know, even though I've wondered myself) and the day my Grandma died. I probably spent two hours in there after my mama told me Grandma went to heaven to be with Jesus. Fuck, just typing that makes me cry still. It's funny--I've had so fucking many close friends die--even Randall, of all people--but nothing automatically brings tears to my eyes like my Grandma.
I hate my fucking brain. I try to hold on to as many memories as possible, but I keep losing so much. But I still remember some. I remember the way it felt to lay my head on her chest after she had her double mastectomy. She was wearing her dark blue cotton mu mu with baby blue trimming. We were laying on the couch in the den. I think Golden Girls was on TV. She was playing with my hair and humming church songs. I was upset because mama and daddy got in a fight again, and she threw her ring at him in the back yard. I ran across the field as fast as I could. My Grandma answered her yellow wall phone by the gas heater and told my mom that they needed to leave that baby alone.
Fried salmon patties. Homemade apple tarts formed with my great-grandmother Mama Stripling's ancient saucer. More church songs. There's a church in the valley by the wild wood. Goddamnit.
The day she wore two different shoes on the way to church. I was the first person to know something was wrong. That was around the same time she accidentally backed her car into the ditch. Then she lost her hair. She found a wig that looked a lot like what it was supposed to look like, but I could tell the difference.
The smell of her bathroom. Burning my hand on the old hot water heater that looked like a washing machine. Pink towels, pink tiles. Taylor Regional Hospital plastic tumbler--burgundy and grey. Watching food particles flow through the translucent straw as the skeleton that used to be Grandma tried to drink her dinner. Accidentally walking in on her while her hand was down her panties and not knowing what to do.
Pink coffin. Or was that Granny's? See, my memory is shot. Lots of flowers, though, definitely. Half the town was there. Sonny Watson was there--my famous cousin Congressman. I drew a picture of his house and tennis courts in 2nd grade, even though I had never been there. I don't even think he had tennis courts.
Still... falling... breathless and on again.
I love this song.
Enough crying.
Her name was Bennie Kate Young. I was named after her.
Okay, I lied. I just want to listen to this song and cry some. It's the only non-chemical relief I ever get.
---
So, I smoked half a cigarette, and I heard the Facebook message ding. It was my old friend Mikey. He's getting me in touch with a buddy today so I can get $20 worth of weed or pain pills or both. I feel immensely better already--well, numb instead of boohooing, at least. You know, my dad always told me that men don't cry. He'd take off his belt and threaten to give me something to cry about. He said a lot of dumb shit, though. He also said men don't eat quiche. I fucking love quiche. Kate, remember that crab quiche I made at your parents' house? So good.
Anyway, I was actually considering making this public, but I don't want anyone to get into trouble. This is why I'll never be able to write my book. Maybe I can get someone to edit it for me and change all the names. I guess I could do it myself, but I'm sure people could still figure out who a lot of the characters are based on context. Oh well. Holy shit, I have so much fucking shit I need to write about. I just need to get it out of my head. It has literally made me fucking insane--well, that and the syphilis and possible schizophrenia, at least.
Two more minutes until the album is over. My stomach needs food. The nice waitress at the Waffle House gave me a waffle they accidentally cooked for free tonight. It's in the refrigerator, but I don't really feel like getting out of bed, and I know I'll regret eating it now after I wake up. That always happens. Speaking of waking up, I wonder if I should set my alarm. I don't want to miss getting my medicine. Yes, medicine--more medicinal than recreational, at least. Maybe the weed will help me be more creative, though. I haven't written a song that I like in months.
Okay, the album is over. Maybe I'll make this a regular thing. We'll see (doubtful).
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
