Fear and Loathing in Las Milpas

In the past few days I've had a repeating dream that I read an email that said something like this:

"Thank you for your interest in Purdue University. We regret to inform you..."

In one of them, I was literally thinking to myself "What am I gonna do next?"

Great.

This shall end, and I will end it. I will remove myself from them and their situation.

What used to be us and our situation.

I won't do it out of hate or spite or any of those sadistic emotions. I'll do it because I have to. Do it because I know that I cannot continue that way. Do it because there will be no bridge between. Do it because change must come.

People will ask me why I did it. I won't give an answer. I will keep it to myself because it's my goddamned business. Because I have to follow a diverting path. Because you must go and I cannot follow.

I do not know where my path will lead, nor do I pretend to know. I do not know if I will have the comfort of others on my journey. I do not know if the journey will end as quickly as I would like it to.

But I MUST go. I have to re-tie that knot that churns in my stomach every time I sense conflict. I have to learn how to revel and work in that fearful, god awful place that I detest. Much like an obsessive compulsive neat-freak cleaning a septic tank, I have to learn to push through the filth no matter how often I gag or come near passing out. I have to learn how to pull on that knot as tight as I fucking can, until I want to throw that piece of equipment across the room and destroy it along with my many other belongings.

I have to because, if not this, what else will there be for me? Because if not this, I can't. I just can't...

That was a dumb move. A bitch move, if you will.

I feel like a jackass now.

Keep on ignoring. I'm used to it.

Doubt has set in once again.

Holy fuck.

Am I really cut out for this? Will I be able to hack it, or will I end up returning home dejected with my head in my hands.

Shit.

I'm a lazy motherfucker. Perhaps I'm the one with delusions of grandeur.

If this doesn't pan out, what am I doing to do? This feels like my only viable option...no, it's just fear of actually putting faith in something that I'm risking a lot for.

I am truly fucked now.

I'll be fine.

Damn it.

As you sit around and pontificate at all of your failed endeavors, look a bit closer. Ask yourself a few questions:

"Did it not work out because we weren't good?"
"Because we burned too many bridges?"
"Because I just can't get enough of that four-on-the-floor dance beat?"
"Because I had no idea that not every song was in 4/4?"
"Because I, for some inane reason, said that to be a good musician you can't really listen to music, not even taking into account people like such as Bach, Handel, Mozart, Rachmaninov, Holzt, Paganini, Lizt, Beethoven and the plethora of REAL geniuses who were aware of what came before them and drew upon their predecessors, but not as mercilessly as I do."

The only common denominator is you.

All I know is that two years haave gone by and a lot and things are rapidly advancing for me and everyone around me.

I'm sure you'll console yourself by saying, "well, we were more popular and got all the chicks."

Remember that as you're making my pizza for me years from now. I like thin crust, lots of cheese and I want it piping hot. While you were being finicky and talking shit, some of us were actually being productive and getting shit done.

Q.E.D. motherfucker.

I have yet to hear back from you. It puts me in a far-away, vague melancholic mood. Perhaps I deserve it either way, but sometimes it's nice.

Every day.
Back of mind.

Sometimes people are gluttons for punishment.
Sometimes you'll be thrown under the bus for sadistic reasons.
Sometimes it's actually funny.

Mostly...it's not.

Why reach and strain yourself for such a minuscule prize?

You could be a beautiful person.

Unfortunately you're not worth the effort.

A quick update of things done and things yet to be:

Done:

Physical Science Lab - 83 average.  I even skipped two labs.

Beat Halo 3- Yeah it was co-op with my cousin.  Suck it.

Pending:

Get paid by the progress times - seriously...

Work on Hawthorne paper -  A.S.A.P.!

Print out recommendation form letters and give to Linda, Collin and Mark- next earliest convenience

Request transcripts (5) from:
UT Dallas
Collin County Community College
UNT

Fill out applications to:
Purdue
Arizona State
Carnegie Mellon
Penn State
U of Illinois Chicago

Send out invitations - next week

Finish Carnivale - one more disc

Catch up on "Heroes" - I REALLY want an HD antenna for my room for this

Cross the writers' picket line - fuck them.  I needs to get PAID!

Get laid - maybe next year...

I'm not averse to pop or accessibility, nor am I inclined to believe that I am an authority of all things intellectual and artistic.

But YOU, sir, must realize that being pompous does not equate ability.  You must realize that you have no room to talk.  You must realize that you've worked much of your life to become a big fish in a small pond and your perspective is inherently skewed.  You must realize that at the end of the day all that you have accomplished is blatantly derivative.  (I can name three instances where your merciless thievery is so apparent that you should be hit with a copyright infringement suit.)

But I know my limitations, good sir.  I know that at the end of the day this isn't it for me.  I have big people business to attend to.  So while you bask in your "[s]hits", be mindful of a few things:

1. Just because you wrote it, doesn't mean it's good.
2. Speed and quality are hardly ever analogous.
3. Faux intellegencia is not cute when you are willingly ignorant.
4. Your hangers-on are on average 9 years younger than you and don't know better.
5. You live in the valley.
6. True artists learn from the best.  And learning from them means going back to the genesis of said art.  Study, study and study.
7. The only monstrosity I see is the "bandwagoneer" monstrosity.
8. Nobody likes a 30 year old rock star...and your clock is ticking.


Long overdue. 

An all encompassing, maddening and feverish focus on a singular goal is dangerous.

But god damn is it exhilirating.

yet I dread it.

Nights like this.

A year from now I plan on being FAR away from everyone here.  And who will I talk to when I'm drunk and feeling inconsequential?

I'll have nobody around to rub my back and tell me that I'm a dumbfuck.  I'll be completely on my own.  It's a scary feeling, yet it's also curiously appealing.  I'll have to depend on myself in the midst of some extremely foreign environment.

I may be freezing my ass off up north.

Or I may be sweating my ass off in the middle of the desert without a clue.

I beg you with every fiber of my being, please answer if I call you then.  I wouldn't be able to handle it without my friends' sage advice.

*kneels*

Please!

I truly love you.

I remember how much she loved me,
and how I needlessly discarded it.
I remember seeing her heartbroken,
and feeling like the most contemptable creature on the planet.

I remember how heavy my footsteps felt as I walked
day after day, and how numb my head felt night after night.
I remember how I could only find temporary release from my self inflicted wound
for minutes at a time (if I was lucky) at the prospect of someone new.

Someone who wouldn't know how detestable I really was.

I remember how it would all come back, especially late at night.
As random images flickered across my tv screen my imagination would run wild
at the thought of coming up with some way to go back into time and keep myself
from making that horrible mistake. Then I would see us. We two. We HAPPY two.

I remember that no matter how hard I tried to force my brain to bend time and space,
I would fail. Each infomercial or music video would serve to remind me of the futility of it all.

I remember laying in my bed in the fetal position, damning myself for being an asshole.
I remember the physical weakness from my inability to eat; the loss of taste and smell.
I remember waking up every morning with swollen eyes and soggy pillow cases.

But, most of all, I remember that my eyesight tricked me constantly.
I remember that, even when it was noon and cloudless, I had difficulty seeing through some sort of
hazy fog. It was as though there was an eternal twilight about me, or some sort of lens that made colors darker and less defined.

So I remember all of this now (this was YEARS ago), and I ask myself, "Why do I miss that feeling even though I can remember all of the self torture I went through for a year and a half?"

I still contend that it wasn't worth it. I would do worse things years later and feel half as bad.

So did I even learn anything? Apparently I only learned that "women and children first" only applies to lifeboats. Love and war? Every man for themselves. Strike quickly and strike first.

So what hope is there of nurturing any kind of wholesome relationship if the pattern has been self immolation?
And can you really argue against the fact that it's easier to burn something then to waste all that time rebuilding it?

It's not even a priority of mine. It just comest to me late at night when I can't sleep.

Even now, 9 years later, I still remember.

It wasn't your fault.  I did this of my own accord and I lived with my decision.  But I'll be damned if I ever repent.  If I've never asked God for forgiveness, why would I ask you?

There is comfort in solitude.  You just want a companion [read: lover] sometimes...

For the first time in my life I am absolutely sure of the direction I am taking in my life. I have a set goal in mind and I am positive that this is where fate has pushed me. The long string of coincidences throughout my time on this earth have put me in a position to change everything about myself; physically, mentally, emotionally, etc. Today I bought Chinese food and this was my fortune:

"Look with favor upon a bold beginning"

Bold doesn't even begin to describe it. If I had written it, it would have read:

"Behold the impetus of change. All that is intriguing, stimulating, frightening and all-encompassing is upon you. Set forth on your path with care and diligence."

It wouldn't fit on a fortune cookie though...

The past few weeks have filled me with dread, excitement and intimidation. My professional life will be revolved around engaging in a dialogue with people who have years of experience on me. That's a frightening yet alluring prospect. I get excited when I picture myself spending days or weeks in a library archive researching my next article. I KNOW now. And knowing is reassuring and inspiring.

Phoenix, Chicago or Lafayette, IA: I will be yours.

This morning I woke up and immediately spent some serious bathroom time reading David Sedaris. After that I took a shower, shaved and went to the kitchen to make myself some breakfast. As I sat there eating another bowl of "Life Cereal" and reading the paper, I encountered a familiar smell. It was a smell I hadn't smelled in years.

Was it coming from the table? No.
Overzealous newsprint? Nay.
Bad cereal? Again, no.

The scent reminded me of when I was a boy watching my dad shave in the morning. I couldn't wait to start shaving, so my mom bought me a toy shaving set. I would stand on a chair and practice for when I would eventually need to remove my scruffy yet ruggedly sexy beard.

I remember realizing that all the "play" shaving in the world was never going to make my facial hair grow quicker. "Man," I thought to myself. "It must be so coool to shave." Famous last words.

I figured out what the smell was. It was my dad after his famous [read:INfamous] "shit, shave and shower". I smelled like my dad.

I guess all of the Cialis spam in my inbox is relevant now.

I found myself inside a living room full of people. The walls were an off-white color with stripes of green wallpaper running from floor to ceiling. Gold trim bordered each strip, adding a sense of subdued elegance. I was leaning against a doorway as I noticed that I knew all of these people. Friends and family were all gathered, chatting softly and exchanging pleasantries. The faint smell of food filled the room.
I turned around and noticed another room framed by a large square wall. In it was my mother, sister and close friends. Next to them was a tall man whose face seemed blurred from afar. Standing in a circle, they all had their backs towards me as if they were looking down at a table. The man was the only one facing me. He too, was looking down.
As I walked towards the room an unnerving feeling came over me. It wasn't my house, nor had I ever been in one like it. Yet everyone I knew was there. As I approached the room my family turned around and smiled, but said nothing. Their faces were filled with a mixture of pity and resignation. It was then that I realized that everyone was dressed as for a wedding. Men in sharp tuxedos with classy overcoats and women in sleek black dresses.
The hand of my mother guided me to where the group of family and friends were. As I walked closer they each turned and acknowledged me with that same look on their faces. Momentarily they cleared the way for me to see what they were all looking at.
A short, stocky and well dressed young man was lying on the table face up. His eyes were closed and he had the complexion of a corpse gone done over with a funeral director's make-up. A thought crossed my mind... "No," I thought to myself. I looked up and across the table at the tall man standing on the other side. He had a black shadowy face and reddish-orange eyes.
He lifted up his index finger, pointed at me and smiled.

I woke up right after that.

In the past week I have experienced the following:

Sleeping on a hard wood floor.

Spending a total of 34 hours in a car with some depraved human beings.

A Subaru stench that will never leave my mind.

Swimming across the Chattahoochie river.

Climbing up to a 30 foot rock and jumping into said river.

Busting my ass and swimming back.

Hearing the words, "I should fuck you for that, Hector."

Seeing an Asian man rock a neon green speedo.

A greyhound by the name "Pineapple".

An Asian woman with a southern accent. (And pigtails, nonetheless. Hot)

Drinking at 6p.m. and being shitfaced by 9.

Hearing the words, "God DAMN! My balls are so full of CUM!"

NOT eating because I'm so shitfaced.

Drinking a 40oz. of Colt 45 in less than 10 minutes because I didn't want it to get cold.

Good beer.
Good friends.
Good times.

Yet I still maintain that I have made the right decision regarding my future. I feel it even moreso. As fun and entertaining as it is, this isn't the life for me.


P.S. I couldn't find a snowglobe. Forgive me mama.

Because it's been in the back of my mind forever
and because it's always been my priority first and foremost.
Because I'd be an idiot if I didn't try...

I'm going to go ahead and apply to as many other graduate schools as I can.

And to hell with the consequences.

My decision.
My choice.
My life.

And that is all the validation that I need.

It seems that some things may be coming to a head.
Hopefully some issues will be settled.
If not, prepare for a lot changes and hostility in the near future.

I hope that this will be an irrelevant issue. If I am wrong, you are bound to hear about it anyway.

In all things, trust the heart.
It may falter,
it may break,
but never for the wrong reasons.

8-5-2007

The most courageous thing a person can do in this life is to love someone and tell them so.

Without chemicals.

Without fear.

Without expectation.

Bullets and blades do not compare to the risk of love.

Be courageous.