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There Aint No Justice 059
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| There Ain't No Justice |
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| #59 |
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- Going Crazy in the Suburbs 05: I used to be... -
by Hairy Leech
i sit here, and i wonder, i wonder where my mind has wandered to. i can't
write worth a shit anymore..
seems like pain is the only thing that can make me write. can't seem to write
when i'm happy. hmmm. strange.
i used to write short stories. i used to write fiction. i used to write
poetry. now i just write about me and the the people i know and how we all
effect one another. and feelings. and hate. and pain. and misery. and that's
it. that's all. nothing else.
i wonder what's wrong with me.
and i quote music far too much. i don't think i've writting a single thing
in the past.. i don't know.. year, maybe, that didn't have atleast one
quote from a song. i'm just a fucking dimwit. i can't think of anything to
say anymore, so i just steal little snippits from songs and throw them in.
my blasted "h" key seems to be defective. allow me to cleanse it.
ah. i don't know if that's better or not, but i popped the bugger off and
blew on it. hmm. didn't seem to be all that dirty. i guess we'll see.
i hate politics. yep.
i hate the music industry. yep.
i hate the way the world runs in general. yep.
not that politics & the music industry constitute the entire world, mind you,
but they're just the first two things that popped into my head.
dear old jeff, record store guru as he is, seems to think i should write. know
what made him think that? i'll tell you, i will.
one day a guy walked in looking to sell used compact discs. he had a bag with
him, which i assumed contained all the said compact discs (which will from now
on be referred to as cd's, as i am generally a lazy piece of rubbish, don't
we all know..). so i says to jeff there, i say "ay, it's a big burly bag o'
used, it is."
and jeff, being the sort of person he is, damned practical joker and all, he
says, "you know, you should write. you use too many adjectives, and they're
just going to waste."
well, he said something like that. i hope you don't expect me to remember the
exact words and all. of course not. i'm not like that, you realize.
i need film for my camera. i need a better camera. i want a nice auto-focus,
auto-winding sort of 35mm camera. and some nice black and white film. hmm.
perhaps i'll buy some of these neat things tomorrow, perhaps.
it's the, umm, the 27th of december. and that should be pronounced "thE,"
stressing the e. the old english sort of way. "thuh" is just not like me at
all. so there.
welly welly welly well. i have $1000 in the bank, $450 in the trunk of savings
(along with some pretty pink stationary and my hair clippers) and a whooping
$60 in my change purse.
gosh, i never thought i'd be saying "purse." and i really never thought i'd
be carrying one. hmmm.
that should (i pray to my [non-existant] god) be plenty enough to buy a car
tomorrow, pay off the dmv fees, and maybe even have a little left over for
gas.
damn, it'd better be.
a nice cheap camera would be fine. hmm.
i don't "need" anything. i'll have to scold myself for using that word again.
i told myself a few weeks ago, considering how well-off i was, all things
considered, that i didn't really "need" anything. i don't "need" a new
$800 stereo, but i'd sure as hell like one. so, i suppose it's proper to say
that i "want" one, or that i "would like" one, or that i "desire" one. so
there. please go back through the above text and replace "need" with whichever
of the above you like. ok? ok. thank you very much. you save me so much time
and effort by correcting my mistakes for me.
i should go and append some big slurry text i wrote a while ago to this. yeah.
i should, shouldn't i. hmm. let's see if i can find it.
well. i have tons of files lying around my disk, and i haven't the foggiest
which is the most recent. i thought i wrote something a few days ago (well,
maybe more like a week ago) that was all moody and nasty and evil sounding.
hmmm. i keep forgetting what i do and what i don't.
it all remind me of mad max. remember? remember that part in the movie where
the one guy tells max that he'll just drift around, living for the moment,
one day blurring together into the next..? remember? of course you do. well,
that's how i feel. there isn't any clear-cut breaks between one day and the
next for me anymore. i can't remember things that i do two days ago, even
yesterday. i can't remember anything. it's going, the mind.. it's going
quick.
aren't i the shy one.
so she says i look evil. and i don't know if i should believe her or not.
i mean, i do believe her, but i wonder, really. i don't look evil. i'm a nice,
sweet, caring, compasionate person. i may as well be a bunny rabbit, that's
the way i seem to myself. fluffy and gentle and fragile and soft and calm and
quiet and all that. that's how i see myself.. yeah. a soft, white rabbit.
with blue eyes. of course.
i was sitting perched on an anonymous 32 line chat system the other day, and
i made the mistake of saying that i felt out of place when hanging around with
the other people of the anonymous 32 line chat system. and then, then someone
all comes and whispers things to me, that i'd considered a friend to everyone
and all that. and it felt weird, i tell ya.
there are quite a few things that i'm not used to in this world, and people
being all chummy chummy with me is one of them. one of the bigger ones.
you see, droids, i was not always the happy camper that you see before you
now. oh, no no no. that i was not.
why, just two years ago, i was a raving lunatic who paraded around nude in the
backyard in the middle of the night. sware to [non-existant] god. did it, i
did.
quit it, stop it, stop that laughing.
yes, and just two short years ago, it was part of my daily routine to be made
fun of, picked on, poked, prodded, jabbed, tripped, laughed at, jeered at,
so on, and so on, and so forth. yep. and i don't think i was all that much
different, really.
see, the problem was, i stopped trying to fit in. yep. just up and stopped
playing the game. and no one could quite figure it out. well, almost no one.
a few did. but they're beside the point.
when a big old jocky muthafucka see something he dosen't understand, he
usually either: a> beats it to a pulp or b> makes fun out of it. both, i
theorize, are some sort of crude ego-stroking technique.
anyway.. highschool, for me anyway, seemed to be filled with big old jocky
muthafuckas.
so, i got rather used to being made to feel i was nothing, i was shit, and
a stupid one at that.
so then, then you see, then this anonymous girl who i just so happen to be
in love with, she goes and tells me things that are just too much to
believe. things like, like my appearance being attractive. like, like me
being cute. and other things. and it was just way too much.
allow me quote from my diary/journal/notebook that i never took a single note
in which i used during sophmore year o' highschool:
wait a minute. where is it?
ah. there it is. i know it by the cover. i drew it up during the gulf war.
you remember, that big old oil war. yeah. it says real big-like on the cover,
"pray for peace."
(speaking of wish, i remember someone kept going around about that time and
drawing peace symbols on desks and such. and some other silly shit kept going
around and bragging about how studly the united states was. kept ranting about
how we should "kick their ass." what a joke. fucking ridiculous.)
anyway.
hmph. can't find what i'm looking to quote. must be in my other notebook of
doom. you know. the one that convinced the entire staff that i was a looney
tune. yep. must be in there.
this one is nice, though. 78 pages long, 210 entries or so. that's fucking
huge, no? i started it on 12/3/91, finished on 4/23/92. that's just
ridiculous.
see? see that? i wrote that much, it contains so many thoughts, so many
feelings.. it's just so.. much. and i wrote it. every day, almost every
class. and i can't do that anymore. i don't have enough time. i'm not
bored enough.
i need to quit my job, sit around, go crazy, be hurt, and write.
i wish i had time to write at work, but it just dosen't seem to come out
that way. i get plenty enough free time, but it's always spent talking to
the other people who work there. and it's always spread out. i never get, say,
fifteen minutes of peace all at once. maybe spread out over nine hours, but
never all at once. i wouldn't be able to write a complete sentence before i
was disturbed again.
it's a job, anyway. i'm not supposed to sit around and write. i'm supposed to
work. so i do.
i've never let anyone read this 78 page long green journey into my tortured
mind before. i never felt like i knew anyone enough to let them. i know a
friend of mine got hold of it once and read some parts, but not the entire
thing.
i think the main reason i've never let anyone read it is because of how silly
it is.. how childish. i was so alone, you understand, alone.. for about two
years, just alone. just me. no friends to speak of in school. just me. and i
went crazy. and i started thinking i was falling in love with people i'd
never even spoken to, just because i was so crazy, so lonely.. i made up
pictures in my mind, pictures of a perfect life, pictures of friendship i
thought i'd never have. i'd see a girl who was as much an outcast as i was,
and i would force myself to like her. and that's what it's all about. and it's
so pathetic.
aren't i the coming-out-of-the-closet one.
i was sick, you understand. i was many times less than what i am today. and
i'm sure you all know how hard it is to let people see you when you were small
and pathetic.
but, somehow, i think someone is finally going to end up reading this thing.
yeah.. i think so.
i know so much about ms. anonymous girl who i happen to be in love with, i'm
closer to her then i think i've been to anyone in my life. if anyone is going
to see this tortured bit of handwritting before i destroy it (and believe me,
i've thought about destroying it quite a few times) it will be her.
and yes, i really did run around naked in the night. i don't know why. it just
occured to me one evening. so i stripped, walked outside, walked around for an
hour or so, and then came back inside and went to sleep.
i don't know how many times that happened. more than once, but less than five,
i'm sure.
i was crazy, you understand.
i used to be an artist, but now i am not.
i used to be a writer, but now i am not.
i used to be an outcast, but now i am not.
i used to be alone, but now i am not.
i used to be filled with hate, but now i am not.
i used to be sick, but now i am not.
and it's all her fault, damn it.
1:43 pm - 12/27/93.. justin, justin, justin. where is my mind?
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