drugs drugs drugs i love drugs
OH, hi there. I forgot, for about three years, that the internet existed. I've been living in a field, in a simple lean-to shack. It was wonderful. But I was lonely.
So, tired of shagging deer and killing possum for my dinner, I am returned.
And I still hate you all.
I am updating from the Future!
It's scary here in the Future!, where just about anything is possible and they'll give any nutjob with a cum-stained ten dollar bill free reign of the internet.
Or the White House.
I came to my senses lately from a very long bender. I'd been having this terrible dream, one of those dreams that lasts for weeks and weeks and doesn't even stop when you open your eyes, get out of bed, and do your daily stuff. A godawful waking dream that haunted my every moment like a vision. Or, more accurately, like an intense and prolonged hallucination brought on by just the right type of drugs.
And you were there too, Auntie Em.
And you were there too, Uncle George. It was crazy. Somebody had made you President, and you were hopping up and down like an ape, screaming and gibbering. The spit flying from your lips turned into missiles and those missiles turned into little children that went splat. But you didn't care, did you, Uncle George?
And me? Well, I feel like I've been living someone else's life for quite a while. It's funny, because the only way to get that sensation is to live a life that is very much my own: the life of intensely irresponsible drug abuse. Hey, why do they call it that? I'm not abusing the drugs. I'm abusing myself.
I don't feel like writing anything on here anymore. I feel like the next four years are just a rerun. We've already seen this episode. What the hell new do I have to say? The world is still going to end, gas prices are still going to be ungodly high, and your girlfriend is still going to miss her period next month.
But then, we were always fucked. The only difference is that now more of us are aware of it. Good for you. Look on the bright side: at least now you know. Right? Right?
Hey. Hey. Fuck off.
Okay. Yes. I am probably going to die before any of you. I've been in a state that could not medically be called consciousness ever since ... uhhhm ... October? Christ, what month is it? Is it still 2004? The computer tells me yes, but I don't trust it. It could be lying to me.
I thought when I came back to the City that things would be a little better. I'd had my little vacation living in the mountains and it was time to get back to it! Oh yes.
I was going to finish that fucking novel and then get drunk and fuck somebody.
None of these things came to pass. Life, still, is life. And you know what that means.
I'll tell you something completely honest now, and I won't even charge you for it. All I really want is a warm body to lie next to at night. To wake up next to in the morning. I feel certain that if I had that, I could do these things. Finish that novel. Get drunk with feeling, the way I used to. Climb out of this haze and take life by the nuts again.
I don't want money. I don't want fame. I don't want success and good fortune. I don't want a spaceplane that can win me $10,000 and gaurantee I'll never not get laid again so long as there are still geeky girls who wear big glasses.
All I want is a little warmth and fucking tenderness.
....(OK, OK, and some nice-sized tits wouldn't go amiss either.)
Today, I will show you America. Look here, here it is:
America, slice 1.
America, slice 2.
America, slice 3.
America, slice 4.
America, slice 5.
America, slice 6.
America, slice 7.
There. I have shown you America. And a hint of other realms that might exist.
I am listening to classical music -- really ominous sounding classical music -- and fighting to rising unconsciousness. I've brought it on myself ... too many pills since the election. Far, far too many. The color is draining away.
I am very deliberately avoiding posting my thoughts just now.
Perhaps later. When I'm sober and calm.
I have returned to City life. Different city. Same life.
Be warned. The craziness may resume at any moment.
Don't stick your arm out the window.
It's scary out there.
AHHHHH! Come visit me! And bring me pills! Big scary pills,pills that will do terrible things to my insides!
(I didn't write that. John did. I copied and pasted it. Because I thought it was appropriate.)
CLICK HERE NOW
I fuckin mean it. You need to know this.
Someone has signed me up with an internet gay personals site. I've been getting e-mails all week.
I will find you.
Got an e-mail from my friend Chuck.
"I can't imagine you out in the wilderness" he said.
I'm from the City. I have always lived in cities. I love the high buildings. I love being in the tops of those buildings, staring down at neverending traffic and doing wildcrazy drugs with other city people. So now I'm out here, living in an old house on top of a mountain. My back yard dips down into a little valley where sometimes I can see deer from my back porch. The nearest store is at the foot of the mountain. The nearest real town (by which I mean, the nearest town with a Wal-Mart) is twenty-five minutes from here. The house needs tons of work. I'm still planning to make Fort Spider a grim reality.
There are challenges, and this is not my milieu.
Running water up here is kind of hit or miss. It's strange. Got cable fucking TV, but the water is a little sketchy. The power will go out if it rains. Things are dirty.
Some of my friends don't think I'm up to this. They think I'll become exhausted and dirty and get high and say "fuck all this." Fuck all this dirtyness, fuck this lack of running water, fuck this long, neverending trip to the store, fuck this "roughing it."
I've been a junkie.
(continuation of non-public entry)
I can do whatever I want out here.
The freedom of it fills my spirit, and I think I finally understand the concept of America. I can appreciate the meaning of it, or at least what the meaning was supposed to be all those years ago. I want to drink beer and watch a John Wayne movie, right fucking now.
I'm not sure where to acquire a John Wayne movie, but I bet there will be one on television somewhere. I have cable. It's incredible. I'm miles away from the middle of nowhere, on top of a goddamn mountain. Cell phones do not work here. Radio stations come in distantly, through a heavy weight of static. But the cable companies have not ignored my hideaway. I've got 800 channels, bitches!
So yes. I will soon open a beer and seek a John Wayne movie.
I did have other plans for the day, but last night's festivities left me in no condition for my little construction project. See, I can do whatever I want. And what I want is to transform my little mountain cabin into a fortified compound. Not for the stockpiling of weapons and inflammatory literature, of course. Just for the random hell of it.
Just because I can.
Fort Spider will hunch atop this mountain, and I will gaze down on the world from my observation tower sipping cold beer -- say it with me, in the dialect of this place, colbur! -- and passing judgement.
I was always fond of weasels, actually.
I wrote a note and left it on Atlanta's doorstep.
Spiderland is fucking closed. After one last rambunctious gathering, a true party-in-hell gathering, I kicked the vermin from my apartment, finally fulfilled my dream of throwing the television from the window (I did it at 4:37 am, a time I had "statistically determined" best for such activity), and packed up my shit.
I have moved.
I am toying with the idea of not telling anyone where I have gone.
It read, "I am so over you."
The City was getting to me. It was making me feel ... dead somehow. Some might make the argument that it was something else making me feel that way, and I guess we'll see. I am in a new place now, and I don't know where to find the Drugs. For a time, until I meet the Right People, I will be sober ... at least in that respect ... and we'll see if I suddenly miss my old home, and begin yearning for the undying noise of big city living, the constant flow of people, the bright lights and the city nights, and the tragic illusion of standing apart from all of it that came with living in an apartment on the top floor of a very high building...
I comfort myself tonight with bourbon.
If that's a hint, I'll go ahead and tell you that I have never and will never set foot inside Kentucky.
I am surrounded by fresh air and the sounds of cicadas. I hear that, round these parts, they call 'em "tree frogs." Ain't that sumthin.
Nothing can compare to sunset in the mountains, accompanied by bourbon and cigarettes.
Movin' to the country, gonna eat me a lotta peaches.