All my words

If I had genital herpes, I would kill myself. Dedicate my life to science. Finding an appropriate sexual partner is already so tiresome as it is, imagine, every time, having to disclose that you have lesions on your dick and that you will infect them by participating in the sole activity that makes life worth living. There’s no way it doesn’t “kill the vibe” instantly. And if you don’t say it you’re thinking about it the whole time. These people are fucked. You can only fuck other positives. What kind of life is that.

The thing that sucks about it is that you cant do anything fun without hurting yourself physically, emotionally, chemically. all pleasure eventually results in pain.

You want me to lead you, hold you, restrain you, tease you, play you, punish you. But not too rough, just enough so that you learn your lesson.   You want to submit. You want me to be strong, assured, and tough but not so much that I Iose my sensitivity. Underneath there is a person who loves you, but that person isn’t front and center until you need him. Because if he was always there, you wouldn’t want him.  

and don’t hate the process. If it takes forever, it’s worth it. Because once you find that perfect salmon, you will instantly forget about all the small fry. The non biters. The ones who did bite but turned out to be rotten. They were all a part of the process. The necessary process. You’re not going to reel in the big haul on the first try. Or even the tenth try, probably. But it will eventually have been worth it. And when it is, you’ll be back here in the notes. And you’ll think: good thing I kept fishing.  

what was wrong with lia? why did I not pursue her more aggressively? why did she not pursue me more aggressively? is it possible to feel that animal, stupid teenage love again where you just need that person and you want nothing but them? have i ever felt it or am i just conflating my experience with something i’ve seen on television?  what am i saying? i just want something to read later. i wish it was good. i hate my writing right now. i write about writing more than any writer and i hate everything i write. you’d think that means i should stop, but I think that means i should keep going. keep digging deeper until there is nothing left to be dug and every mundane thought i have ever had is preserved on this laptop for all of eternity, for no one ever to read. not that i would want them to read it anyway, because then they might know me and i can’t have that, even in death. 

every seattle business storefront has a sign that says no racism here no bigotry no transphobia blah blah blah like I’m gonna walk into the business with a T-shirt that says I am racist like im just going to come in immediately be visibly racist all over the place.   real racism is low-key. nobody just walks in and is like I’m racist, i hate gay people, can i have a mcdouble? they’re subtle. no one’s gonna be like well I was about to be racist but then I saw the sign and thanks for putting that up I forgot there’s a rule against that.  

Obsessively miserably scanning everyones perfect skin as they eat ICE CREAM while i have a face full of fresh acne for no reason

On the ground floor of the Summit Inn, at about 1AM PST on the 22nd day of January 2022, the souls of approximately 30 wasted adult strangers converged into one to the tune of “My Heart Will Go On” roaring over the karaoke speakers.   In brief moments, I catch a glimpse of what life was like before the internet. before everyone was looking down at their phone every moment of every day and every mouth was masked and every person was too self conscious to sing as loud as they can in the presence of strangers.   in the mountains, it’s too cold to use your phone. and there’s nothing important on there anyways. everything you need is right there in front of you. all the people you need are whoever’s in the room. whoever happens to be visiting that corner of earth at the same time you are. i have begun to accept the random nature of human connection and the sheer luck involved in finding worthy companions.  

Looking back at when you still had hopes and dreams and straight teeth and perfect skin.   It’s heartbreaking to look back at old photos and realize I was the best looking person in most of them. I could have had such a good time if I wasn’t so deep in my own head. If only somebody could have taught me how to be comfortable around others. What will my self in 5 years think of the way I am now? The things I leave behind… I hope I never lose these notes. This dialogue I have with myself is the most valuable one I have. Sad but true. Growing up is realizing that you are, for the most part, alone. Even if people like you or want you, you are completely alone.  

Twitter has circled back to elementary school levels of name-calling. Where’s the creativity? When you say something the twitter mob doesn’t like, you are now a WEIRDO.   Imagine being a weirdo. I might cry. Oh, he’s a little different. A little out there. Not one of us. One of us. One of us. Stop being that way and be like us, weirdo.   That’s what a girl says when she wants to fuck. Oh my god, you’re so weird. Haha stop, you weirdo. (Please, keep going. I cherish this respite from my boring tragic life and this is the most fun I’ve had in weeks. Don’t stop.)

I’m depressed. But why? How? You’re amazing! You’re the best! You have so much to be grateful for! There is nothing wrong with you -- you should just be who you are! But who I am is a complete loser. I have no friends, no money, no passions, no hobbies, no girl, nothing. Actually, maybe you’re on to something. Maybe you SHOULD be depressed. Maybe you are a loser. And I can’t help you. Any friend or therapist or teacher can show you what you need to do, but the problem is that you actually have to do it. Which is hard. Even if you want to do it, which I’m sure you do. But you can't. Because it hurts so much to change. It’s not fair some people have never had to change because they had the perfect parents and the perfect body and the perfect face and the perfect life and they just have it all figured out and they always have and they always will and I can’t even look at them in the face because I’m terrified they’ll see me the way I see myself: a disgusting, pathetic creature, a mer...

I come up with funny shit when I’m high. I know this because the people around me laugh. But I can’t write it down because I’m so caught up in the moment. But being caught up in the moment is how I come up with the funny. And then when I’m sober and alone I got nothing.  

  It’s normal to hear from less people each year on your birthday, right?   I remember in my late teens I would get 30-40 happy birthdays on social media from people i barely knew. Today? Maybe 6. It doesn’t bother me, it just makes me question whether or not my life is moving in the right direction.   Or people are just more friendly when they’re teenagers. Or since the whole world has moved online everyone is less friendly. Or you’ve just voluntarily moved away from these people who once wished you Happy Birthday. Whatever. As you grow older, your circle tightens. Your pool of acquaintances expands, but the circle of people you really care about tightens.   Or it’s just that nobody says happy birthday on public facebook walls any more, because nobody uses facebook any more.

so like.. what are you like… about?   like whats your like THING you know? XD   What should I label the little box I want to put you in? “Gamer?” “Sports?” “Racist?” “Music?” “Films?” “Cars?” “Tattoos?” Which filing cabinet will your endlessly complex human avatar be shoved into for the story I eventually tell my friends?  

Getting to know someone is not a process of listening to them say words about themselves and memorizing the facts they amount to Their actions and reactions over time and the visceral feeling you get when you see or hear them is as true as any “fact” about their life. You can't get to know someone at all in an hour. Or even in a day. The only useful information is learned over time.  This is why I hate interviews and first dates. And why everyone does, probably.   Here's what it's like to meet a girl from a dating app: So like.. what are you like… about?   like whats your THING you know? XD   What should I label the little box I want to put you in? “Gamer?” “Sports?” “Racist?” “Music?” “Films?” “Cars?” “Tattoos?” Which filing cabinet will your endlessly complex human avatar be shoved into for the story I eventually tell my friends?