1,141 (island)

Jack Sherman will always be the definitive guitarist for the Red Hot Chili Peppers.  Having seen them as recently as two weeks ago I am more sure of that than I’ve ever been in my miserable worthless life. 

The most recent Tegan and Sara album is great!  I recently listened to it on repeat while driving 7 straight hours through the inky night, operating under several Monster energy drinks and several thermoses of piping hot black coffee. 

False faces are literally everywhere and I think it is partly my fault and partly not but it probably doesn’t matter.  I should just go dramatically crashing through a window.  More impurity.  That is his specialty.  And a furry thing.  But we’re all related. 

I think the smile took control of everything.  And there was cotton.  Maybe cotton.  And something very boyish.  Short and boyish.  And things were stretched to the very limits.  Don’t think about white collared shirts and different types of ties and for heaven’s sake don’t even mention….  Don’t apologize for not having as much time because it is not your fault.  The long week with nothing to do but cross over the bridge.  That sounds very lovely.  What else can I get you?  I have made a grave mistake.  Is it time to end it all?!  Maybe. I certainly do fancy the idea.  Nope nope all those other ideas running through the brain.  So much electricity and screaming.  You showed up thirsty today.  Everything is you.  I know friendship is not a possibility and that must make you feel very comfortable.  I cannot speak a word of German.  God, I am Frank.  Please forgive me.  My pleas for forgiveness are hollow and meaningless.  We are all lost and that is the great beauty of things.  There is no reason for any of it.  I always listen to that one Lady Gaga song afterwards.  I wish I could quit you.  This ain’t no rodeo.  You wouldn’t even dare watch that.  All of a sudden I’m talking about something entirely different.  How was the preparation?  It was very slushy.  But I don’t care.  I never care.  People already know what the objective is.  I won’t even listen to that message.  Someone is plotting my doom.  How richly appropriate.  Did she make the right thing?  Yes, of course.  How could there be any doubt.  Sunsets are always preferable to sunrises but I’m sure the alternative would have been just as sweet.  God, the smile again.  Getting back to that other thing.  The color surely pops, eh?  I woke up on red sheets and felt so confused and blissfully alone yet I could think of nothing more appealing than killing myself; perhaps blowing my brains out and making pretty patterns on the floor and walls.  Then I walked outside and I was singing into a tape recorder and looking out at a river which only reminded me of another river.  I imagine myself in this situation and I am needed and it is all quite lethal and lovely and for some bizarre reason that is the only way he can see himself ingratiating himself but it works if only for a moment and then it doesn’t but at least there will always be that one moment.  On the train, right?  And that of course leads to the flashback of the initial moment which caused everything and it was the explosion that created the universe and the world had never known such sweet torment before and a very blonde tennis player left the festivities early to ensure maximum pain (cream corn, yes, ideas have it, he has ideas). 

Even after that though I still imagine over and over again…I think it is a blue dress, could be another color, almost any color really.  We are all wearing masks.  No, I am wrong again.  Almost everyone is wearing masks but this is a moment for seeing.  I don’t know that I really want to kill myself but I sure do think of it often.  It doesn’t feel bad though or sad.  It actually feels quite peaceful.  You’re tired of it.  That’s what happens when you say hello.  The weariness is noticeable and beautiful.  

What did the litigator say?  I am the goddess.  It is too difficult to recall the rest – perhaps something about totems and a tiger – but surely that goddess quote is correct and could not be more apt.  how could that person be such a keen and astute observer and translator of the international language of body?  I guess that’s why the litigator is the litigator. 

The faces are not the same one moment and then in the next they are.  The smiles are the same and too lovely and I simply want to die.  A thousand little deaths sound so blissful.  They prick me.  mutual respect.  Or is it you shall respect?  Or something else.  But no, it seems the perennial favorite shall forever be haunting this space and there is nothing you or I can do about it. 

I am a despicable creature.  I don’t want to be seen again and then in the next moment I do.  I wake up and everything is awful and there appears to be flowers on the wall but they are all dead.  There are other things rotting on the wall.  At least I haven’t punched holes in it and written cryptic narratives.  I still have those precious few wits about me.   

Yes, twice.  That is what it is to be.  And lies the likes of which you convince yourself to believe.  Those are the best kind though, right?  What does this mean?  An admittance to emotion.  It’s all so fucking meaningless in the end.  The word “fuck” appeared in my mind a lot today, often in big flashing capital neon letters.  It’s not the word’s fault though.  Do not blame language for my shortcomings. 

But don’t include you in that.  I got the name wrong.  No I didn’t.  it’s just two names.  But don’t include you in that.  Lovely.  That is the only appropriate word.  Peach.  Does that sum it up?  Why, oh why?  And why am I me?  I am so ugly and awful.  There is nothing to me.  Yay, it’s going to be party time very soon! 

You’re very welcome.  Too many words and they are burning my brain and I don’t know what to do.  Except these terrible thoughts about myself give me so much comfort.  Please be happy.  Don’t think twice about me.  that would be such a waste of time. 

Basically, I just mean to say that I need to listen to David Bowie and Scott Walker right now, though not necessarily in that order (but not not necessarily either, dig?). 

Still waiting on that phone call on the book.  I wait still. 

There is a plectrum in my mouth.