...so just give up.


i do things. i do things to occupy my time, to cleanse myself of this awful feeling, this void. for instance, i try to decipher how my low cds should be arranged. originally, it was alphabetical, starting with the rare, 1999 recording of a paris show entitled, "anthony, are you around?" but then other record geeks told me it was supposed to be arranged chronologically, thus starting with their debut album, i could live in hope. but then i have these eps and singles, like the transmission ep, and there's no precise date anywhere on the album. technically, i could look them up, but then i imagine what i might look like from an outsider's perspective, and i can't bring myself to do it.

i guess i became obsessive compulsive right after college, when i found myself with a lot of time on my hands. too much fucking time. i'd sit around the apartment and think of things to do: wash dishes, work on our beast of a backyard, arrange and organize my things, and then move on to the next person's things when i had nothing left to arrange and organize of my own. i called myself a "minimalist completist." i didn't want much, but i wanted every low record.

in the movie ma mere, the main character says that he realized that he never truly believed in god, but that he liked the idea of being abandoned by god.

when i was a kid, my aunt occasionally offered to take us out for ice cream. i told her i didn't want any, and then i would sit by the window, and i would watch as she and my cousins would drive away to baskin robbins. i would wait for that deep, sinking feeling. once, someone finally called me on it. "he just wants us to feel sorry for him." "no, i don't," i argued, frustrated that i had been exposed, my twisted sense of self revealed to all.

my reality becomes unglued. i don't know who i am, or what this is. i don't know what we're doing, where we're going. the only thing i'm sure of, the only thing i can completely back up, is that at some point, everyone tastes the flavor of the week.

1 comment:

la lintik said...

truth be told, i was partial to the ice cream at thrifty's. that was one item i couldn't figure out how to shoplift. a 50 cent scoop of mint n'chip didn't seem worth going to juvenile hall for. anyways, my lola paid for it. portrait of a kleptomaniac as a young man growing up in rosemont.