Silence

I can hear the silence buzzing in my ears. It’s a horrible sound. The last words I told her still echo in my head and I slowly feel stupid after I say them. We’re I’m in habit of telling her certain things, sweet things, I suppose, but it all depends on taste. I told her Sweet dreams as we were hanging up. She replied in the same manner.

“Always and only of…” and I held that upward inflection. What was she supposed to say? What was I supposed to say? In the past it would be followed by a you, but now what? Always and only of what we had before all this mess came into our lives? Before the urge to live a new life, a single life? There wasn’t anything I wanted to hear at that moment but I was longing for the you - the me. She always had dreams of me, didn’t she? At least the sweetest ones were of me, right? They were always of her, mostly, usually.

She just said goodnight again. I accepted it because I had done something that I didn’t want to do. This, what we have now, is all that I can expect. I shouldn’t expect more. I wish I could.

Philosopher and I were at Hastings on Friday and I saw this book. Religion has very rarely been a method for me to heal - it hasn’t been one since I was a kid and naive enough to believe that the world was created in only seven days in only a thousand handful of years ago. But Buddhism seems to come more natural to me than any other. I always said if I would allow myself to be naive and believe in something, Buddhism would be my religion.

I should’ve bought it, but I didn’t. Instead I opted for something else - a Soduku book that Jyg and I could share. Something we could do together and prove that two people can be friends despite the break up.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. That last time I told her that we were still together and things were going well - well enough to stick it through. And the urge for affection is greatly needed. I’m sick and tired of being the bum friend, the writer with a dream. The person who doesn’t drive because of some inane fears. All these things were fine and perfect when I was a kid, but I’m in the real world now, aren’t I? And the more I start to self-analyze myself, the more I’m convinced that nothing short of an asylum is for me. Somewhere I can be locked up and forgotten.

Or perhaps, I’m just reading into all the shitty thoughts I’ve been having.

We All Deserve to Die

I have been having this ongoing dream where I’m killing myself after killing some unknown person. I think my mental health is on a decline and I don’t trust myself around pills, plastic bags, razors, knives, anything that I can use to end myself. I hate being this weak. And while I’ve become kind of recluse by force, I’m thinking of going to this event on Saturday. I’m not sure how I’ll get there - this is where new friends should come in play. Sadly, I can’t make new friends because I lack that ability and chance. I’m not sure. I want to go because it’s something I’ve never done before, but am I only doing it because Jyg is living a new life without me? And what’s with this jealousy? Suddenly I’m looking at photos of her in short skirts and thinking that other guys are ogling her like they would a slut. My emotions are rampant. Something has snapped.

The fates are vicious and they’re cruel
You learn too late you’ve used
Two wishes
Like a fool

And then you’re someone you are not
And Junction City ain’t the spot
Remember Mrs. Lot and when she turned around
And if you’ve got no other choice
You know you can follow my voice
Through the dark turns and noise
Of this wicked little town

I think this sick city is eating me alive. I’m sure it is. It’s like a putrid cancer that latches to our minds/souls and sucks them drive. We are prisoners of our own private hell. Those of us who do go north wind up in Austin, where we just pollute it without ignorance and apathy. We are a horde of emotional vampires, or zombies, pick your choice. We won’t stop until everyone is just like us. And as long as I’ve known myself, I’ve known there are about two people in this world that I’ve met - the black holes and those of us who get sucked into their world. I’m afraid I’m becoming to believe I’m a dying star.

And soon I will devour everything there is to devour. And I’m sure that things will get better as they say, but when the only person who has ever made you felt normal no longer wants to deal with the shit that your life comes in store, then you feel that the rest of the world is worthless. And now I’m thinking what the point of living this life is because I can’t see it any longer.

I damned her earlier. I damned her for her confusion. Damned her for her drinking. Damned her for her friends. Damned her for all things that have befallen on me by her. And yet I cannot hate her, throw her out. I’m her slave, I’ve realized. The pathetic dog who waits around. I’ve hated the weak my whole life and now I’m one of them and I hate myself for it. If I could, I cut the very heart out of my chest and lay on the ground so that the world may stomp on it.

You think that luck has left you there
But maybe there’s nothing
Up in the sky but air

And there’s no mystical design
No cosmic lover preassigned
There’s nothing you can find
That cannot be found
’cause, with all the changes you’ve been through
It seems the stranger’s always you
Alone again in some new
Wicked little town

So what now? I’m not humanisticly suicidal, just off the wire, I suppose. For five years, I was balanced and now I’m like that circus act. One man upon a unicycle with a table upon his hand, glasses towering high and trying to stay balanced. Because when those glasses fall and shatter, I’m not sure what I am capable of doing.

They all deserve to die.
Tell you why, Mrs. Lovett, tell you why.
Because in all of the whole human race
Mrs. Lovett, there are two kinds of men and only two
There’s the one staying put in his proper place
And the one with his foot in the other one’s face
Look at me, Mrs Lovett, look at you.

No, we all deserve to die
Tell you why, Mrs. Lovett, tell you why.
Because the lives of the wicked should be made brief
For the rest of us death will be a relief
We all deserve to die.

Sleep to be Awoken

My father, the man who never had a role in my life, the stranger in the crowd, a phantom of a man, was an alcoholic and, so, by natural psychology, I am at risk of being one. I don’t drink. Never have and I don’t want to. It’s the only goal in my life that I’ve the pleasure to announce I’ve kept. When I was a teen, I never wanted to drink illegally. As an adult, I am the sober man at the party, the loner, the unfunny one, lifeless and devoted to his sobriety. It shocks people to find this out. I’m sure some of you are staring at the screen with uplifted eyebrow questioning my honesty. In fact, the only alcohol I’ve consumed is always a part of a recipe, and never out of a bottle.

This probably puts a lot of people who have read my stories to question them. All my characters drink. They hang out at bars and grow drunk, hating society, becoming shadow men incapable of loving. They drink to regain a certain ease with themselves. To become happier than they have ever been. But it is fiction. The accounts of the characters are neither myself or anyone I know.

And with a sad heart I say bye to you and wave
Kicking shadows on the street for every mistake that I had made
And like a baby boy I never was a man
Until I saw your blue eyes cry and I held your face in my hand
And then I fell down yelling “Make it go away!”
Just make a smile come back and shine just like it used to be
And then she whispered “How can you do this to me?”

I lost my cousin to his addiction to alcohol. New Year’s Eve 2003 I went to bed. I woke up in 2004 to hear from my mother my cousin was dead. The medics said he didn’t feel pain. That his neck was snapped the moment he collided with the object he crashed into. The wreck was so bad that his legs had to be amputated. He was cremated, his ashes somewhere, forgotten.

At times, I still find myself thinking he’s not dead. I never saw a body. Never seen the evidence of his death. When I see a chubby guy with a scruff beard, I still think he’s around. I think it’s the guilt of knowing that I was the one that expressed that he wasn’t welcomed in my mother’s home anymore. I wonder if things would be different had I not said that. Would he still be alive?

When Teddy died in 2001, I think I was a little distraught. No one I knew had ever died before, not a friend and never someone my own age. I was in my BCIS class when the announcement that Teddy had not made it. He’d been in a coma for some time and was struggling to live through. I think that was the first funeral I ever attended where I felt this coldness growing in me. From that moment on, I never wanted to be associated with the substance.

I canceled all my friends who were drunks. I promised never to grow to close to them. So when I found out my girlfriend at the time favored the drink, I was distraught. Despite the fact that we probably weren’t made for each other, the one thing that was a constant for me was her passion for the drink. I didn’t want to stand around and watch someone fall into that trap, confusing alcohol for happiness.

Addiction’s held you back
But you don’t care
Cause you’re on a high again
And it’s not fair
Consuming alcohol
While I gotta drive
Take a hit from the drugs you stole
And try to survive

Since your life was over
You haven’t yet been sober
You have held me back so long
Everything you do is wrong

My brother, the middle child, named after my father, following in his footsteps, is also an alcoholic. I’ve seen him in and out of the system since I was a kid. And while I love my brother, I have absolute no respect for him. He’s wasting his life on the bottle. He’s a rotting mess. It depresses me that I don’t know how to talk to him, or what I can say to make this disease leave his body.

And the saddest part of the story is that my brother is painfully aware of his condition but refuses to do anything about it. Alcoholism, like all addictions, is an ongoing battle between the alcoholic and the substance. I’m sure my brother feels like he’s losing his, which was made clear to me when he asked me to kick his ass if he was ever a bad father - he told me this at 7:00 am as he and his friend were still up drinking from the night before. I told him I didn’t have the time and I’ll deal with him after school.

You are one of God’s mistakes.
You crying, tragic waste of skin.
I’m well aware of how it aches,
And you still won’t let me in.
Now I’m breaking down your door,
To try and save your swollen face.
No, I don’t like you anymore
You lying, trying waste of space.

Now I sit here and stare at this screen thinking how I came to this point. After swearing never to care about people who might be headed down the path of a bad addiction, I find myself compelled to take care of a certain person. As I told this person, I don’t want to be up at night fearing that the phone call will be someone telling me of their death. I worry enough about my brother, I don’t need to worry more about someone else.

I just hope that this person seeks comfort in something else instead of drink. That drinking shouldn’t be for the buzz. This, of all things, is now bringing me closer the edge than I have before.

I tried to help you once
Against my own advice
I saw you going down
But you never realized
That you’re drowning in the water
So I offered you my hand
Compassions in my nature
Tonight is our last stand

I tear my heart open, I sew myself shut
My weakness is that I care too much
And our scars remind us that the past is real
I tear my heart open just to feel

Who Am I?

There’s a lot about me I haven’t discovered yet. Last night, I made a shocking discovery about myself. While I won’t get into detail, I’m not proud of myself at this moment, yet I really don’t feel all too shitty about it.

I stopped reading Ten Little Indians because life got in the way. I put the book down and haven’t really paid my fullest attention. I’m sure, being consumed by The L Word didn’t help much either. I love the show.

No offense to my female readers, but I think I’ve become the woman in the break up. The stereotype who mopes all day and doesn’t do much but self-pity. I don’t like it one bit. I wish I can be the mechanical person I was five years prior when I ripped J******’s heart out and felt nothing but this sudden uneasiness of absolute void.

I’m not asking not to feel, I’m just asking what I should do in order to make sure that whatever happens to me, I’m not alone.

From the Ennui Files

Naturally, The Ennui Files is actually the name I took for my journal that I kept in the spring of 2007. It later morphed into what I now call my e-zine. Last year, Jose Skinner had us keep a journal to chronicle scenes in our everyday life. Needless to say, I found myself becoming involved with my subjects that I chose. One, a young couple, of which was my favorite. I became so involved with them in my journal, that for a moment, I lost myself inside of them. I wanted to be them. Share their happiness. I now bring you, what I rarely do these days, a glimpse into the mind of chaos.

NOTE: names have been removed:

19 March 2007

Nothing eventful happened. I just spent the week writing and remembering, going through terrible withdrawal.

I wonder what’s gonna happen today. A strange anxiety has been building up. The area looks empty. I want them to come already. Ding. Is that them? I looked and saw nothing.

What would I write if I wrote my manifesto? Who will live by it? What will it be called? Who will read these hieroglyphics of mine? What messages - purpose - would this thin book convey?

Another ding. Elevator stopped. Is it them? I see no one. I hate this torture.

[...]

So disappointment has set in. I don’t think the girl’s gonna make it. I think I’m being avoided. I had a terrible dream that this girl is R****’s little sister. I wonder now, but do recall her talking about moving in with her brother and sister, and I don’t remember R**** ever having another sibling. Sometimes I wonder if I can find out about that little girl so many years ago. If my actions - well, not mine, but I did nothing to stop it - had some sort of emotional effect. If all the times we tortured and scared her left her unable to trust others.

[...]

I saw her outside, writing or reading. I wonder if she was told not to have any contact with me.

20 March 2007

For as long as I can remember, I never once had to celebrate my birthday at school - only once, in Kinder and once in high school, but the odd thing was it was at the beginning and the end of my public school career.

And both involved cake, come to think of it. The first was from my mother who surprised me with a birthday party and the last was provided by an old friend of mine named A*** P****. To me, in those days, she was the object of my desire. No matter how many people she fucked, I wanted nothing more than to be with her. She was….who flashed me. We’d been through hell and back and each time we grew close, she’d pull away. It was a game, I’m assuming, something for her to do. It’s been four years since I last spoke to her. I imagine my image of perfection is somewhere out there with wrinkles and a self-loathing disposition. She brought me cake, a rather large cake, announcing my birthday. I left the cake with Mr. Mauro.

Then there was A**** C******** whose name fit her. A slave to her lord, I believe for A**** it was all an act. I never truly believed she was Christian, but I did like her in a grotesque sort of way. I think I wanted to spoil her. To show the humanistic side of her. The true form of her depravity wrapped in angelic virtue. She gave me what any girl should if they ever want to be accepted into my world–****** ****** ****. I’m addicted to them.

One day I will write about every one I knew and immortalize them for my readers.

[...]

Today she did not look at me any different. She smile, in fact. She smiled.

[...]

…I’m in class and it escapes me why I came. I think it’s because today is when S******** B**** is giving out her story. I’m not sure why I still worry about her, or if I should be at all. I get too attached to people. I should learn how to stop.

30 March 2007

Ennui Prayer. I wonder just how deep this will be.

Hamartia - tragic flaw

16 April 2007

“You cannot be a good writer of serious fiction if you are not depressed.”
–Kurt Vonnegut

24 April 2007

Tired. I can’t think straight. All I have in mind is J****** because of my “Samantha” story. Nothing feels right. I’m tired.

I never thought it would be so hard to write something I experience for two years.

25 April 2007

I stopped thinking.

1 July 2007

Like a dream I couldn’t get out of, she appeared before me like I had hoped. She, of course, was with him, but I’m glad they do things like that. I’m glad he drives her, takes her to baseball games. Slowly, I realized, they are my Henry and June. And I am the Anais Nin of this ordeal. Only, I will not have sex with either of them even if I wanted to. Like June said to Henry, I have become bored with my life so I have taken them up.

12 November 2007

I just saw a man who stopped at a trash can to look in. He stood there as I passed him by, stopping to look as well. The creature looked up at us, eyes pleading to escape. I began to walk away as he asked me to stop and help him with the trash can. I hesitated, but he did it anyway. The animal crawled out and walked away slowly. The man placed the trash can back. As we walked away, I asked, “How do you suppose it got in there?”

He answered that it was looking for food.

“How did it get in?”

“Sometimes,” he answered, “it’s easier to get in but not out.”

5 December 2007

Jyg’s in the mood of no longer dealing with me.

22 December 2007

Something’s wrong with me. Everything I look at is another way to kill myself. The bag on the floor, for instance, seems to be the easiest way to do it. Just to cloak it over my head and lay down seems blissful, but so weak. I refuse to be weak.

29 January 2008

I saw T**** Saturday. She’s now working at Barnes & Noble. She recognized me, looked at me and went back to her red velvet cake.

[...]

I met Adam Zuniga.

5 February 2008

I fall in love with people’s minds. I have fallen in love with several people - infatuation, not raw emotion.

17 March 2008

Returning to a journal after a long pause isn’t any different than talking to an old friend after 5 yrs. I’ve resorted to blogs for the story of my life. I feel that I have fallen victim to the modern technology disease.

After all the years of fighting for Jyg, I have succumbed. I am returning to the place of friend. I am never sure where this path will lead me.

So I’m thinking that with all my friends becoming more and more fixed in their lives - with marriage & children - and now with Jyg leaving me, I need to move on. I’m thinking of joining the Peace Corps.

18 March 2008

What parts of me am I willing to expose? Which parts will I be willingly to give to another? In classical literature, I am told, most poets would give their lover their bowels. Every stinking, putrid organ of their bodies for their love, for their women, for their men. What am I willing to give up for the one that I love - that I will love? I want a woman of strength. Someone who is strong enough to love me. Someone I can be strong enough for. Someone I can spend the rest of my life with.

I want to expose myself to the world, as I have exposed others. Each part of me shall be left shackled. Left tormented. I want to see the world, while helping others. I want to be emotionally available without giving my heart away too soon. But that defeats what I want in life. Is my heart a vital organ I am not willing to give? To expose?

I want to transcend. I want to fill myself to remove the void. To cover the most shameful parts of my body.

[a cross with the word "WISH" written upon the middle, beneath: "I want so much to believe."]

[a heart with thorns upon it, a flame burning upon it. "Tender Being" is written above and below, on slot for each word.]

I am Ennui Prayer.

I am now dawning on the anniversary of being Ennui Prayer. I’m now fleeting in a world of post Poet Demas. I change my alter ego so much, it’s no wonder I’m having an identity crisis.

What now? I applied & tested for telecommunications. The city doesn’t want me, nor does the university. I know it’s because of my lack of license. I want to drive. I need to drive. But I need to get over my stupid fears.

That concludes my journal entries I was willing to share with you. I’m hoping, with time, some of these entries will become a part of The Wastelanders.

coming unglued

I wish I were a better news writer, but I’m just too self critical. That and because I think news writing is the lowest piece of literature, right below technical. Not that I look down on these people or anything, but it’s not right for me.

I took a test for teleperformance today. I hated it. Not sure if I passed. And had it not been the fact that I felt like shit, I would’ve stayed for the interview. I scheduled one tomorrow.

I saw Jyg today. I even invited her to my get-together with my friends. We’re having it this Friday at Casa de Binx. It’s not our usual stuff, but we’re celebrating the end of birthday week. Tomorrow’s Binx’s and Thursday is mine. I’ve invited his sister to our function and hope she goes. After all these years of knowing each other, I never knew she was a kindred spirit.

But Jyg coming over was big. It was the hardest thing for me to do. I mean, I love you all, my friends, but no matter how close we are, she’s the only one who has seen what I’ll call my “soul” because I’m feeling metaphorical. It’s the hardest thing to go through when you have no one to talk to because the person you trusted was the one who brought on all this pain. And my absence in her life wasn’t helping her either. I can’t imagine to be the other person right now, seeing the pain of the one you considered the closest person in your life knowing you can’t help it because it was brought on by you in the first place.

I still love her, and I think I always will. But I have to accept the fate I brought upon us. So this I ask of my friends, don’t hate her. Don’t treat her any differently. Don’t think you cannot trust her. She’s the same person she was when we were together.

What do you want out of life?

¿Qué quieres en la vida?

Quiero saber quien soy

Quiero saber quién mi padre es

Quiero saber amor

Quiero saber por que

Quiero saber por qué existo

Quiero saber mi lugar en este mundo, en este vida

pero más que eso, quiero tranquilidad.

My Spanish is a bit rusty. Before the break up, Jyg and I would sit around and speak in Spanish. It’s a sad thing that I will never again have those simple, empty moments where nothing else matters but the green eyes before me.

I Think I’m a Lesbian, and Other Wacky Stories

Just as the title states, I think I maybe a lesbian, but I don’t like the fact that I will never again have a sexual use for my male genitalia. However, I can just be full of shit which is probably more likely.

For those of you horny guys who strolled in here, I’m so sorry to disappoint. I am a male and I do have a penis. And no, I’m in no way gay. I tried the whole let’s-see-if-I-could-write-gay-porn-reviews-for-$400-a-pop (no pun intended) life choice. I watched the porn, puked a little in my mouth and thought, shit, some guys would do pretty fucked up things for money because you know that not all guys willing to suck cock, fuck and be fucked by a guy are gay. Some of them are just as straight as you and me.

But to be a male lesbian is to be something completely opposite. You still have relationships with a female, but you just don’t use your penis to pleasure. Looks like you get the shit end of the stick, hu? I don’t advise any of you to try it, however, for those of you who proudly admit in most jockish voice, “Oh, I’m a lesbian, huh, i like to fuck girls…huh huh,” that’s what you’re proclaiming.

In all reality, I think it’s really not cool, so perhaps I’m not really a lesbian, just going through a lesbian stage so late in my life, because Geb knows that I’m not gay because, yeah, gay sex can be slightly uneasy - not that it’s bad and I prefer lesbians because I’m the almighty straight guy, but because it’s not for me - same thing for lesbian sex, by the way - and blah, I’ve lost my train of thought.

Change of subject. Today I did the unbelievable. I applied for shitty telemarketing job at Teleperformance. I did it to pass the time. I mean, I already pass the time at home, but I get paid for this. And the fact that my mother left me twenty dollars yesterday - injuring my pride - didn’t help my self-esteem for the blow that came next. (As I write this, it is still Monday, by the way.)

Besides, I think I’ve made the decision of going into the Peace Corps. I’ve contacted a recruiter. For those of you who are already thinking I went against your advice, I’m not running away from my problems. I’m not escaping Jyg. I’m not escaping at all. I want this for myself so I can figure out who I am, what I’m here for (non-godly of course, but I still believe people should have a purpose in life, and I can’t seem to find it on my own) and what I’m supposed to do. I love you all, but you know the Valley isn’t for me. I’ve outgrown it. Or perhaps, I didn’t grow at all. Actually, I think everyone around me has grown up but me.

It’s sort of like that clip from Clerks II, where Dante and Randal are driving back to work:

Dante Hicks: Why do the Go-Karts help?
Randal Graves: I don’t know, it just reminds me of a better time in my life.
Dante: Like when?
Randal : Like when we were young and the world was still in front of us.
Dante: We’re not that old.
Randal: I don’t know, man. Sometimes it feels like the world left us behind a long time ago.

Only, I don’t have a partner in the mix. I suppose that would have been the binx had he not grown up before me..

I love my friends. I love the old ones and the new ones and the ones I probably will never meet in the Valley. But you’ve all grown up.

We’ve gone from this (we were never really this stupid, though):

To this (also not really, but you know, I fucking love the Pumpkins, man):

I’m not sure if I’m making myself clear, or I’m just confusing you. I know what you’ll say, but I thought it over. It’s not about running away. It’s about finding my place. So if you don’t have words of encouragement, please just stay silent.

I drew a picture of you…

I’m not sure how I feel right now. I don’t want to hate her and I know I don’t and probably won’t, or can’t. For the meantime, however, I’m asking her not to contact me or see me or anything. Apparently, it was my Epiphany post that drove her to the decision. I can’t understand why. It was my crack at calling myself the (ex)boyfriend. I wasn’t sure what I was anymore. I was having a case of identity crisis. I wasn’t her boyfriend and I wasn’t her exboyfriend. So I called myself the (ex)boyfriend because I’m in a gray area. This signaled the change.

Now I’m here listening to Aimee Mann like a moron in love with something that cannot be. And The Professor and Jenndiggity, amongst my other friends, have given me the support that I need. If I make it through this, I can make it through anything, however, I fear that something may go astray. We’ll see, I suppose. We’ll see.

And to think, you all thought I was smart

Well, it’s official. Jyg and I are no longer. I realized this through the power of MySpace where a small glimmer of hope was holding on to me like a dire child. It went from In a Relationship to Single in a heartbeat after my Epiphany post. What sucks the most is that I found out through MySpace.

I’m not sure where any of this came from. I just know that in the mean time, I want nothing from her. And I don’t want to speak to her. And I want not to see her for the time being.

Which is going to be hard, considering she still has some of my books.