Note to Mnkygrl

I don't know who you are, or where you came from, or if I'll ever see you again. Sometimes I'm not even sure you're real. And whatever did happen between us, gradually it's all being taken from me.

But l still have this: Every fourth Friday I stare at my dad in the dark. I see this person, now at the end of his life, who treats me like he brought me into this world when he didn't, who still cries when my own tears have long since dried up completely. And for those few seconds I love him so much it hurts—so much I can hardly stand it. Then I come home and I see your picture...

...And the exact same thing happens.

That's all I need to know.

BMFuckinX

It's a custom 26" old school cruiser—black, of course—and I should have it within the next ten days.

Folks, I may actually survive after all.

Note to Reader

If any part of my blog ever strikes you as disgustingly ultra-pretentious, by all means let me know—so I can make a special point of writing more such missives. Thank you.

Do not read this.

Day 331 of my 31st year now marks a most regrettable milestone: That's when, as far as I can tell, I was visited for the first time ever by honest to God hatred. As of this posting I'm still very much under its spell—awake for most of three days, way beyond reach of all reason and self-interrogation, not to mention totally impervious to both Xanax and Jägermeister. The whole time in fact I've just been sitting here, chewing my lip and grinding my teeth as my mind spirals further and further into chaos—what I can only describe as the inexorable yet sublime rush of my humanity slipping away. And the longer it continues, the more hopelessly addicted I become; indeed it's almost as gratifying as love. At the same time, however, it is a cruel paradox, as I can assure you my feelings of shame and self-loathing are even more overwhelming than my desire to punish the object of this rage. What's more, I find it beyond comprehension, and frankly just plain scary, that I could possibly feel this way about someone I've never even met.

But make no mistake—I do in no uncertain terms wish him all the most hellish suffering imaginable and then some. Because he possesses what in the first 11,284 days of my existence on this earth is the most precious creature I've ever seen or touched, and being the despicable maggot that he is, he actually possesses her from a fucking prison cell. The clincher, though, is that his blindness to this amazing treasure is exactly what put him in his current predicament. So to be perfectly clear, it's not at all a matter of his wickedness; rather, his stupidity, his stupidity, and also his utter stupidity are what inspire this pitiless derision. Perhaps that makes me all the more depraved; I don't know. But I do know that nothing less than a lengthy audience with this piece of human refuse can possibly stop all the venom coursing through me. And so it's already being arranged. In the meantime, I do apologize for my own lower lifeform-like behavior. And I promise I will be a person again as soon as possible.

Thanks for reading by the way.

Addendum 5.12.06: Three weeks later it’s apparent he won’t be at all bothered with my request. And though I’m tempted to send a more urgent follow-up, perhaps with a few juicy disclosures that would virtually guarantee an acknowledgement, for now I’ve decided just to let the matter rest.

Funeral Music

Ultraviolet - Kites (Fantasy Flite Part One)

While I could easily start a whole separate blog entirely for the purpose of expounding on my freakish obsession with this track, for now I'll just give the most concise clinical description of the FFP1 fetish I've so far come up with—and that is, I've no doubt whatsoever my IQ would be several points higher but for the sheer cortical mass I devote solely to the perpetual if unconscious contemplation of this one hallowed sound recording scarcely more than five minutes in total duration.

Or in other words, I think it seriously kicks ass.

(What I simply cannot get my mind around is the fact it was released when I was only 14 years old.)

Kites

I will fly a yellow paper sun in your sky,
when the wind is high, when the wind is high.
I will float a silken silver moon near your window,
if your night is dark, if your night is dark.

In letters of gold on a snow white kite,
I will write,

I love you,

and send it soaring high above you,
for all to read.

I will scatter rice paper stars in your heaven,
if there are no stars, if there are no stars.
All of these and seven wonders more will I fly,
when the wind is high, when the wind is high.

(Repeat refrain.)

Word of the Day

Mon·key·girl

[muhng–kee–gurl]

–noun Exclusive term of endearment bestowed upon a female human with whom I have an obsession of the highest possible intensity.

–usage note Though alternately referring to different individuals, this appellation is essentially a proper nickname subject to all the same rules and conventions. I should also point out that MONKEY by itself is an expressly informal, somewhat gender-flexible epithet; it too may convey affection, but with a platonic or much more casual connotation.

Addendum 7.1.07: The term has now been downgraded to an online alias. Nothing could possibly feel more perfect on my lips than her actual name.