Incomplete Strangers: May 10, 2001

On May 10th, 2001, my head was aswirl with all kinds of meaningless shit. I hadn't written anything worthwhile in a long time, other than meditations, which weren't original. During that time I wrote: "I look back at these past four months of joblessness and think about all the time I've wasted, chasing love to no avail and to no sense of accomplishment other than destitution. That's what happens when you flirt too seriously: you can't stop, and you flirt with everything, even destitution.

Today I experienced the fear of God again. Standing on the platform waiting for the underground train and trying desperately to shake the feeling of life vs. death, me at that [temp job] that is just like Scient. God, no. Let me be employed, yes, let me earn a living; yes, but not in that environment. I don't know what I'd do.

Meanwhile, I sleep, and I sleep, and I sleep at odd hours. Crashing out in 2-3 hr. naps. I'm not a napper. Am I depressed? I dunno. I want to say no, but I know what J. meant when, describing his adverse reaction to cocaine, his self-propelled toxicity, that he feels 'it' lurking. I feel it too. All I want—and i've said it once and say it always—is a woman and a job. Proof evident that my priorities are fucked up. Shouldn't it be job first? Call me crazy because I am. I wanna be in love. 'Don't be like me, kid.' That's all I ever see myself saying in the future. 'I had a shot at great things, but I blew it.' And with that, I smile and go to sleep.

Afterthought: what I want to be in love with is my life.

1. i feel like a rat in a hole

2. sometimes when we unravel it's the most beautiful thing

3. and you recognize that her beauty is not the thing that's keeping you going after all

4. transfers are only issued at the time fares are paid

5. i feel like a rat in a hole.

this is the story of me and some of my friends and what happened to us all in the pursuit of life. there's a song by the pixies, frank black singing if man is five well then the devil is six and if the devil is six then god is seven and sometimes i just wanna bellow that from the rafters like jimmy cagney shoutin' 'top of the world ma, top of the world!' but i had this conversation w/ myself about it once, arguing that there's a fundamental flaw in the song's theory if you don't believe in the devil—let alone god.

we all believe in man, right? not all of us, i said to myself, no. but we wake up, look in the mirror, walk around, answer the phone, stand in line next to one another. IS THIS NOT EVIDENCE OF FIVE? the existentialists were never that convincing i insisted. then i decided to play devil's advocate with myself. aha—if i'm the advocate, evil must exist. i don't want to confirm the horned one's existence but i do as i sit in the station talking to myself in my rock and roll outfit. look the part, play it. that's right, i'm an actress. studying for the role of a crazy woman, in which i play myself: the crazy that was cured upon realizing that the devil is merely ignorance and god is indeed seven, thebiggestofthemall, because seven ate nine."

On this evening, September the 18th of 2005, not much has changed except that I've lost the playfulness. That was also pre-9/11, though. Our civilization has begun the great descent. We're at the point where the downward momentum is steady but unstoppable. Rock bottom is still a ways in the distance, but we're definitely making our way there. Events like 9/11 and Katrina will later serve as mile markers.

Meanwhile, people like me still want to carve our little slice of the American dream, which is really the world's dream. We think we're humble enough that our wishes should be granted, and we become outraged in being denied. Then someone like me picks up the paper and sees yet another picture of another person whose life has been uprooted by natural disaster or human violence or just dumb luck ... and that someone like me realizes there's no humble pie big enough on which to gorge herself. And yet, and yet, and yet, I still want what I want.