Wide awake and no reason for it. I'm flat. No creative spark, no obsession, no particular feeling at all. Just unable to sleep. I could probably find a better use of my time than typing nothing into cyberspace. Rereading
The Diamond Age, a great sci fi book, but I don't feel like reading now. Not taking anything, and trying hard to keep not taking anything. I suppose this state of being beats the insanity I was experiencing, but if it keeps up, I'll go insane again. I'll do something stupid to break the boredom. An empty glass with nothing to fill it but kerosene, smashed against the nonexistent fireplace with a violent fling. The smashing sound offers momentary excitement, but then there's broken glass. Hmm, the sparkling pieces are pretty and fun to play with. A quill dipped in ink to write upon walls with. Silence in the hollow of my head. Tempted to coax them back to life like a battered spouse coming home because what else is there? The chores. Walking the dog. Isolation in a crowded room. No memories, no thoughts, but the sound of dripping water draws my attention to a world beyond the window. A dark sleeping world with little appeal. The bars are closed, no bottles in the house. No one to call even if they weren't asleep. I'm back in my mother's house, alone and pondering wandering the streets in search of...what was I looking for then? All I ever found in those wee hour walks into the suburban night was the opportunity to be a male prostitute. What else was there for an 11 year old boy when the bars closed? It was only through the prism of drink and wispy waves of pot did the world look interesting, and then it was mostly the lights. The people were receding motion, or soliciting desire, or flat out predators. I was a fast runner and good climber, but rarely was it necessary. I kept moving and had no destination other than the ocean, and it's long with many roads that led there. Surfing the randomness with an air of purpose. Simply walk onto a porch and duck whenever danger was felt. It was an earlier night, and a year or two later when I noticed the blinking blue lights undulating from almost every housefront window like the hypnotists watch on chain. That explained all the zombies and filled me with arrogant fear. I wouldn't watch TV for a long time after that. Those fuckers weren't going to get my mind. I became Donald Sutherland in the remake of
Invasion of the Body Snatchers. I was playing guitar by then, so I played for hours on end, off and on pot. Then we moved to Redding, we being my mom and me. I took a creative writing class with Ms. Ormand, and I haven't stopped writing since, but like everything in my life, incomplete and sporadic. Except for lyrics, I actually finish those sometimes. Made one friendship that still exists today. Left the day after I didn't graduate from high school, but foolishly returned to So Cal. Wasted life is wasted life, but fortunately I had periods of sobriety and made a few good decisions here and there. Always manage to fuck it up somehow though, but had a good time doing it. Most of the best things in my life have music at the center. I miss Peggy.
