go read his blog and tell him i write better than him.
|i knew this kid in high school, d. may. i met him on the porch of this church right across the street from school. we used to sit there during lunch and smoke joints and cigarettes and the groundskeeper was totally cool with it as long as we didn't leave cigarette butts all over the place.|
he had the best ever pair of shell toes. they were gray and made out of some super fantastic fabric or something. i was obsessed with his shoes. mostly we used to run into each other at the trestle and come up with these wonderful elaborate plans to do things we were never going to do.
one time we went all around drinking a 40 and he showed me all his tags. we ended up making out under a bridge.
then he shot himself in the face. that's the second dead person i've kissed.
yesterday i was at xani bar's house and we found some pictures of him. he looked ridiculously happy in them. we also found a picture of this kid medhi that sat in front of me in geometry. he used to turn around in his seat and read the notes me and diana were writing. usually they didn't say anything good. observations of what people around us were doing. stuff like "turn around, arrow is staring again." or "what is chris davis doing with his pencil???" then i would kick him in the ass and diana would throw a peice of paper at me that said something like "hey, kick that dude in the ass again!"
he was killed. i never kissed him. we weren't even friends outside geometry. i don't think he had that many friends. he probably never kissed a girl. he smiled a lot though.
kids in oak park die all the time. my brother's best friend hung himself in his garage or his basement or something. his birthday was yesterday. i can't imagine walking into ace hardware and like picking out a rope to hang myself with. i wonder what it felt like. like when the casheir said "have a nice day" or whatever did he smile and say it back?
if ghosts exist where are mine?
i met some girls. none of use are afraid of spiders.
we progressed from martinis to shots of whiskey to beer and back to shots of whiskey again. then we frolicked.
they told me crazier stories than my crazy stories. and they didn't think it was weird that i let people burn me. what the fuck.
i stole the one girl's flip flops.
sometimes you love something. like drugs, or an idiot.
lets just say you love drugs. you love breathing them in your nose and walking to the lagoon and climbing the trees and swinging down on the weeping willows even though it rips your palms to shreds you don't even care because all the dopamine flooding your synapses totally dulls the pain.
maybe you're like god this is fabulous all i ever do is run around with my friends and i never sleep and i'm laughing all the time, like necro said, I LOVE DRUGS. but then one day you are all sitting around on a bridge and you're not laughing and then you realize you have practically chewed your tongue off and you are looking into the water and your head hurts and you are like FUCK! you are coming down and maybe this is the first time you have come down on a bridge and not like on your couch in front of the fireplace with a glass of milk in front of you where everything feels perfect.
this is when if you love drugs you say i don't want to come down this shit sucks and it makes me want to cry and you eat another pill but it's not going to kick in for like 20 minutes and you want up now so you snort a pill on top of it but you're never going to get back where you were because you've already started coming down and all that's going to happen now is you are going to grind your jaw and give yourself the biggest migraine of all time. the shit will not be fun.
but you'll do it again and again and again and you'll take more and more every time but you're never going to get to where you're trying to get to wherever that is.
then maybe one day you snort a pill and suddenly you have like an epiphany and run into the bathroom and stick your head under the sink and inhale water deep into your nose and blow it out furiously and you do this like ten times and when you're done you'll feel total clarity or whatever. like woah, that's over and i feel fine.
oh my god drugs are an idiot.
some people are never going to get to where they are trying to get to wherever that is.
fucking let it go.
if you're sitting in front you can wear a dress like you are at the opera or something. there's something about getting dressed up and jumping out of your seat and yelling and screaming and watching two people beat the shit out of each other that really does it for me. you might get blood on you. when the newspaper airs a photo of a guy hitting the mat so hard sweat explodes everywhere your screaming head might be in the background. good thing you wore earrings. you might even get to sit next to bobby hitz and butterbean because all the industry people know your dad and they're like "bobby mastermind!" and they all shake hands and you can smoke a cigar with a bunch of people dressed like pimps. i am going to be wearing a dress and smoking a cigar in heaven. did i mention you might get your picture taken?