compressed and almost furtive
Saturday, June 1
12:50pm, Ted’s
What a shitty night’s sleep last night. Sick and interrupted. Read over some books yesterday and saw again how I push myself beyond reason, beyond reality. How much easier it would be just to sit with myself. A million resolutions.
Also reading Eileen Myles again, thinking I’d better get drunk and take speed if I want to be any good. I love the way she knits grand-themed small observations and ambient detail.
The past is too silly to concentrate on. I’m slow today. May I’ll be able to resist the temptation to smoke, but will I resist the temptation to nap? I feel like I’m high because I’m so heavy and dull.
How impossibly quaint this will all be in two years. I can’t wait. Hurray for time passing and new things always arising. Still love to get high. Got to fit a visit to Hil in the schedule. What’s going to happen at work next week?
Very self conscious about the act of writing. Ted trying to have conversations while I’m working. Complained last night about feeling crappy emotionally. Disappointed and depressed. Nobody changes. Conversation with Spyro at lunch: You can change how you act, not who you are. E.g., Gary could develop social skills, but could never be an extrovert.
Masturbating more often again. Feels healthy, though the fantasies generally follow old patterns. Yuck.
Wednesday, June 5
2pm, train
What a beautiful day. 2:00 on the way to work. Still sick. Surprised by the poetic voice of three new almost-poems. So declarative, matter-of-fact. Who should I show them to? I like working with Galinsky. I think we have a lot of respect for each other. Enjoy myself today. Take a trip to the roof during the 4pm show.
Need releases for tension, pressure, weirdness and stress. All arenas are stressful, like a three-ring wrestling match, running from ring to ring and grappling. No, a three-ring ballet. I’m dancing. Whoopee.
At least my well-developed sense of whimsy is still operative. The least self-conscious of the new poems is the best. New rule: Be less self-conscious. Ha ha.
Definitely not getting the time alone I need. Also spoke to Mom last night. She pissed me off six million ways, but I’m ready to deal with her. I should do it from the office this evening. Mom, it’s my high school reunion. I work 60 hours a week right now. I just submitted some poems for a book deal. Fuck all that.
So, feeling pretty down. Uninspired, a little sad. Futile. Saw Jackson with his new girlfriend last night. Had a hard time with that one. Planning to dye my hair platinum, like that’ll help. I’ll go skating today after work, even if I smoke myself into paralysis.
Friday, June 11
11:10am, train
I left that poem Candy on PoemFone today. Wish I’d paused more at the paragraph breaks. Just wanted to get some stuff down and out of my head. Thought it was going to be a bid deal postponing lunch with mom for the reunion. All that planning and dreading in advance, then because she was on the other line, she was just like, “Yeah, sure, see you then, okay.” She’s inconsistent.
Don’t worry about things at work. If it’s slow, it’s slow. Don’t succumb to feeling overwhelmed, passive, dissociative. Feel tender about Ted. Got to get together a show for Friday, poems for Saturday.
I saw Evan walking yesterday on Broadway between Prince and Houston, and we smiled at each other. I actually think he noticed me first and made the motion to say hello. How happy I felt that he smiled at me. Maybe he doesn’t hate me. Maybe all that shameful shit didn’t leave such an indelible mark on everyone else as it did on me.
One thing for sure, I write for 20 minutes every morning and it’s not enough. I’m always ending, just as I’m ready to get going.
Been listening to Liz Phair makes me want to write songs. Take an audio course on tape. How to be cryptic and explicit at the same time for fame and jealousy.
Last night things were pretty strained between me and Ted. We started to talk about it, then went to bed. Told him this morning, my sex drive is incredibly low right now. I’m waiting for it to bounce back. Watching T.V. last night for something to do.
Didn’t skate because it felt too hot walking from the train home, but really just got lazy. Decided to jerk off and nap. Probably going to smoke more pot at work. Great. I’m glad I write down all this mundane shit. I guess right now all of this seems obvious, but later it will be a helpful record.
Stoned and distracted. Want to rip up and start over. Thinking of doing another comedy gig in two weeks. Yesterday, put my foot down in the netcast department. We have to get serious. The shit is too flaky. It felt good to get it out, but felt guilty for calling people out on their shit. Today maybe I’ll replace the signs in the studio. A stricter regime.
Realizing at Storm King last weekend how much you miss over thinking and worrying and planning. Watching Ted completely absorbed in his own thoughts. Shake his head. Realize how often I am completely not paying attention. How little attention we pay each other.
I think I might try getting to work early and doing this there. When I read the last book over, I was surprised how short each entry is. How compressed and almost furtive sometimes, how rushed, but I liked a lot of what I’d said, so that’s got me going again.
To read the girl bomb diaries in chronological order, click here.