Yes, your Pookie told me, though I think he did once before during the summer while I was too drunk to remember. I hope this is not a trespass. The Pookster is now 'Robbo' to his new singer friends, a nickname which makes me want to giggle every time I hear someone say it (they are sooo serious). I had the singular pleasure of attending three of his poetry/music shows at Mad Ivan's Paintball and even got to hear some of his latest songs, but the fourth show turned into a benefit for Ivan at the 6th St. Grill, a thoroughly depressing night for yours truly. Ivan was at that time in Austin getting ready to have a grapefruit ripped out of his throat and has spent most of his time since choking down handfuls of meds and getting nuked. Was it so long ago that he, I, and various other circus freaks frolicked in the snow during X's wake?
Now that I have you wanting to tear out my smoky lungs for reminding you of such sadness, I'll move on. Sort of. Fort Worthless is still as you left it. The names and faces change, but the song remains the same. Throughout this last summer, as per my routine, I was a Berry St. social butterfly, moving between two circles only marginally related otherwise. I've mostly left behind Jake, Josh, Pete, and Dave (and those who shall remain shameless). I see them only periodically, mostly at the obligatory Halloween parties. Hard to figure out how all that came and went, and how I'm again the only one left rolling around the same old places (with new signs and bands playing) listening to 23 year-old college kids asking, "Hey, man, have you been to the Aardvark before?" Oh, the cliché of it all! You're not missing a thing here. What else you may be missing, I'm just beginning to learn.
Yeah, he told me, and the whole way home I was repeating "sacredpsycho" to myself over and over just to make sure I'd remember. I've been on this LJ thing since about last New Year's, what a surprise it was to find out that you'd gotten here before me! I'm so glad, though, because I just had to immediately readback those alltoosmall glimpses into your last two years. I never knew how well you could write or draw. I never knew how much of a fucking nerd UR!!!eleventyone!! I've never known you very well at all, have I? But then it's hard to get into your head when most of the times we've been together have been during the wee, small hours between boredom and frustration. And, of course, you're always seeing someone else (let's make it permanent this time, shall we?). Not that you and I were meant to be together; hell, if anything I'm glad we never had the opportunity to ruin things by screwing each other. I'd rather be one of your ghosts than one of the names on your List. Lose me in the shadows of those holes in your head, forget me in the heat of someone else's breathless pounding, cuddle me close to your heart like a fuzzy penguin with a big nose, but please please please never hate me. If I ever hear from your Pookie that his Princess doesn't want to talk to me anymore then I would lose my own mind, because trying to understand you is part of what has kept me stable in this crazy, smegging frell of a world since I fell and couldn't stand up.
Do I sound like a stalker? You don't have to worry about me throwing rocks at your window out there in St. Louis; that's a little out of my range. So if this is stalking, it's a very slow, patient kind (hehe). And I think my apparent absence in your postings until now means that Mike doesn't have to worry about you dropping everything to run back here into my arms. Believe me, that's the last thing I want. The bottom line is that for you and me this is probably the best opportunity we've ever had to talk to each other without someone else's drama getting in the way (it also means that I don't get to see you naked, but as they would say on I Love the 80s; been there, done that). I checked out your wedding pics, by the way. Robert said the other night, "At least she had a traditional ceremony this time." What a funny guy. You looked great, however, and more happy than I've seen you in a dog's age. It makes sense, I guess, that I didn't hear about it until afterward, because I would have felt so guilty not being able to get there and blow things up! I hope you didn't think of me, because I couldn't have been there, and that would still make me feel bad. I'm very proud of you that you have been trying to get your life together since last we met (somebody has to). There have been times over the years when I've been surprised to hear that you're still alive. If you off yourself now, your ghost is gonna have some `splainin to do. On the other hand, don't be too shocked to realize that living a 'real life' ain't much more than being a couch surfer with the difference that you own the couch. On your bad days, don't hesitate to use me as a free ear; as long as I'm online I'll be happy to tell you it can always get wor... umm, I mean-Stinky lives, Ivan lives, and until some drunk TCU kid zigs when he should be zagging, I live. It's no cosmic coincidence that you're on my friends page, so remember me when you need to and don't worry about any judgementalism or indifference. I'm a cold, heartless bastard; but for you I'll make an exception.
I could try to go point by point about all the amazing things you've been posting for the last two years, but I'm tired, there's just too damn much to say, and I'm sure you probably want to forget most of it anyway (If your faulty wiring hasn't done that for you). Suffice it to say I too am an avid reader and on better days I also think I'm a writer, so we should have SOMEthing to talk about. Until then, tell all the extras in your house to shape up or ship out or at the very least, when you're trying to sleep, to shut the hell up!