From the present going backwards....
I just got a mix tape in the mail from P_I along with a swatch of material with the words "I Am A Shameless Agitator" on it. Getting mail from noders is the best thing after a day of nothing at work.
Some random thoughts....
Whenever I listen to music by a musician or band that is either currently broken up and/or deceased, I can't help but think for a moment that I'm listening to the voice of someone who is dead, that in a way, it's like hearing the dead speak in the world of the living. I guess you can't really think about it too much, lest losing the point of why you listen to said music at all, for your own, living and breathing reasons.
You know what this place is, Ellie? This is a place where the dead speak. Oh, no, Ellie, not right out loud. Their markers speak, their gravestones. This isn't a scary place, Ellie. It's a place for rest, and for speaking. Can you remember that?
Bart tells me I should turn my recent rash of dramas encircling me into a piece of fiction, make everyone a character. I do not know when, if ever, I will be ready for that. I am still having fleeting visions I don't want, memories I never had myself but are being impressed upon me from an outside source. You can't just write about emotions; you have to give them bodies and personalities. No one will be interested unless they are characters they can in some way relate to, and I can't even relate to them yet.
Every day lately I'm finding myself in a position of defense about the holidays, and why it's not that I'm depressed, it's that I don't really fucking care. It's hard for people to believe that, as if by saying that I'm automatically just in denial. If they'd seen my last few years of holidays, they'd think differently, maybe.
It's like you agreed to be this person, just to make it easier for everyone. And it's like with yearbook. Everyone's in this big hurry to make this book about what happened, but it's not about what really happened, but what everybody thinks is supposed to happen. Because if you made a book about what really happened, it'd be a very upsetting book.
----My So-Called Life
Earlier today, I checked the Pictures of Everythingians for the first time in a long time. I looked at my first images of Ken and Birch and how it came to be that I would be attracted to these guys based strictly on their words and good looks, or maybe as they would say, their ways with a camera. I also found what was my first image of Carson. I remember looking at it for the first time in that tiny attic apartment 2 addresses ago (read: 2 years) and, combined with IRC chat, would turn into a friendship and love and then nothing, a void. I wonder if anyone ever found me there and wondered things like I wondered about these guys, who would all impact me and some of which would move here to New Orleans and have all these freaky things happen to them. PS: We really need to update that thing. It does need to stay, I think.
A brief synopsis of the last week:
Tuesday: Carson brings by his bed to store at my place, Ken and Bryan move it in so he doesn't have to come inside. After he's gone I cry for a little and I don't really understand why. We wait for Ted in baggage claim, on the way back hit a drive thru daquiri bar. Ted made me mix CD's and bought me titanium single flare flesh tunnels (blue) and a book. We all eat chicken tortilla soup and cornbread I'd made earlier. We hang with Ken and Bryan for many hours until we get some time alone.
Wednesday: After I get off work, we hit Rings of Desire and Ted gets a new pair of titanium captive bead rings. Ted makes us all chicken and black bean stew.
Thursday: After I get off work, we hit Port of Call rent Run Lola Run and Harold and Maude, get stoned, give each other foot massages, watch a killer thunderstorm through the window in the living room, and fall asleep.
Friday: Jim Monahan (owner of Monahan's and Molly's bars) died, Ted and Bryan got trashed at Monahan's while I was at work. When I get home, they're both crashing out. Go out with Ted and Ken to Juan's, crashed early. Bryan passed out on futon
Saturday: Breakfast at Le Madeline's, showed Ted the Tree of Life, walked around the Quarter, watched the NYC Calypso Tumblers perform, bought sunglasses, watched High Fidelity, got gussied up for my company's Christmas party (where we basically just refilled our drinks and holed away in the lobby by ourselves).
Sunday: Breakfast at Denny's, I stole a Denny's mug, Bryan hangs with Ted while I'm at church, we play a game of Trivial Pursuit (another in which Ken kicks all our asses) and then they take off to meet up with Suzy for a "last night out" and drinks. I get drunk and play sappy songs for Ted. Wake up at 4am to drive him to the airport.
I will spare all the sap and mush for my homenode.
And just like that, I'm back in my old grind again. My grind is, currently, finishing up the last of the Dixie 6 pack I didn't finish on Sunday, catching up on sleep, and trying to relax.
It is wild to find new love, to have friends draw near, to have the residual calamity of living your life in close quarters with such an odd array of misfits. We are the island of misfit toys.