its funny the things that girls will say to you. the way that one part of you might be forever encapsulated in someone else - that they know you as one thing and you were exactly that. nobody knows that Tommy better than her.
but I'm different now. or am I? I am afraid to walk around in the neighborhood I live in. my space is littered with the things I have bought and it gives me pleasure to look at them. i guess my hands are still dirty. they probably always will be.
my friend James Miska is in town but i haven't seen him yet. somehow this kid is everything I want to be. he is older than I am and so this gives me hope. I have certain ideas of how I'd like the shape of my self to change next, but having those ideas almost always rules them out by default. the most creative, alive and excited time of my life was also the time when I was smoking the most pot. I wonder about this connection. I eye the huge bag sitting atop my desk.
DFW might have written Infinite Jest as a compilation of 1,000 short stories that didn't have enough steam behind them. at least those were the parts of the book I liked best. i have alot of little scraps of conversation that float around in my head, or scenes I lived through, fictions I imagine. I wonder if I wrote them all down, just got them into something physical, if i could straighten them out somehow.
if i ever wanted to write a novel, i would have to cancel the internet.
a boy growing up with evangelical parents, they think we are in end times. they raise the child this way.
two men sitting in a hardtop car, preparing for something important and anxiety-inducing. one man lets his steam out by telling the story of his younger brother, in Georgia, who is mentally retarded.
essentially I am just word-vomiting right now. i'd like to take some photographs soon and post them up here but, again, the place I live is scary and I don't want to bring my $1000 camera out into the sunlight.
until later,
atm1
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