I interacted more at Open Diary than I do here. It wasn’t positive. I mean, sure, I cackled with my cronies, but I put burning bags on shit on the neighbors doorstep too. I don’t think about OD that often except I find myself writing entries I’ve already written, like, the one I’m in danger of writing now.
Sometimes it’s a poor effect. I like the guy from Oklahoma story (last entry) I like it in full orchestration. I’ve just told it so often that a bit of it peels away and becomes more mythic. What I love about the story is that I was there, that it happened. The more I tell it the further removed I am. But that’s not what I’m getting at. It’s kind of boring to me. Yes, I’m doing the whole entries-as-habit dawgian mind fuck thing, but, still, I shouldn’t have to dig so much. I’d rather bury photos than bodies.
Huh, that’s not supposed to sound like some pacifist pamphlet, Christ knows I’ve written a few of those, I just meant six feet is a long dig for a simple exercise.
Thing is tomorrow is my birthday and I’m just not up to the chronic, pathological, abnormal bad luck on birthdays entries. Yes, I’ve lost identifications, teeth, marrow, girlfriends, beloved automobiles, all kinds of shit on February 18ths along the trail of time — shit, bad sentence. I was going to shadow the trail with broken things and lost things … it’s a lazy analogy. In the practical grind of a mortal lifespan time is not like a trail at all. Wait, no, in that context it is. One step east or west, not so much. Or, I suppose, north or south. In context it’s just forward. I have a big walking stick. When it comes to young green branches whoever is behind me is going to get thwacked.
So, I wrote that paragraph and the phone rang and of all a sudden I had much better things to do. I hung out with GF and our great beast. I bought him his favorite brand of squeaky ball , and I brought shoes I had ordered for the GF. Yes, it was a sweet gesture. There are her favorite running shoes. Under other circumstances I might have got red stilettos. I was on a compulsive shoe buying spree and I couldn’t imagine a place to store them here. Storing anything on her feet Is a better idea.
Have I ever mentioned how lucky I am? Sure I have, dozens of times. It’s true. I have the love of a beautiful woman and it’s not only welcomed but encouraged. And I’m safe at home for the dreaded birthday.
Birthdays suck in normal ways for me too, sort of like new years with less amateur drunks in tuxs and shit. Counting years is a pastime for a youngster. I’ve been closer to the grave than the cradle for a while now. I wasn’t expecting to live past thirty; I have no contingency. Yes, of course, I had several years to come up with one, but, you know, fuck you.
You’d do best to be nice to one another. For the next 24 hours or so, you’d do best to pretend you don’t know me. Know in the biblical sense, that is, in the sense that it’s written down in the gospel prosebox. Peter denied Christ. They made a big deal out of it. I won’t, I’d encourage you to deny me and when in heaven on my throne were the arc of the testament unfolds I’ll give you treats.
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