thetuesdayjournals-blog

[thetuesdayjournals-blog]

january 15th, 2002 - tuesday

Not wanting to write much.  I am gonna try and be quick.

Kirk turned twenty today.  I called him and told him “Happy Birthday.”

Marilyn stopped by about 11:00 a.m. in the morning to drop off a CD that she had burned me.  I went back to bed after that.  Slept in until about 4:00 p.m.

Jarrod isn’t in jail anymore.  He got home last night.  I don’t know what’s gonna happen with him.  Worked from 6:00 p.m. to 11:00 p.m.  The place was dead.  Spent most of the night talking with Mr. Quint.

********** **************

Marilyn called me from Manhattan, we talked for about twenty minutes give or take.  She feels really lonely and she hasn’t even been back a whole day.  I do miss her already too.

I typed a letter to Erika L--- and Kacey K---.  I am mailing them the poems I wrote for them, that’s all.

Mr. Flynn let me borrow Joseph Conrad’s Hearts of Darkness.  I am gonna try and finish The Outsider tonight so I can get Hearts of Darkness back to him soon.

********** **************

I have now finished Colin Wilson’s The Outsider.

“Those who follow that part of them that is great are great men; those who follow the part of them that is little are little men.”

- Mencius

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january 14th, 2002 - monday

I hit the storytelling jackpot this morning.  I had a really weird dream.  A dream that I can mention in here, write completely in fleeting glimpse, and also write as a story in 6n8t7.

********** **************

Marilyn called around 11:30 a.m. and I got up and showered.  I picked her up and we went down to Westglen to see A Beautiful Mind.  I’ve not been there in over a year.  It, unlike my present theatre, smelled like a movie theatre.  It smelled like my past.  I used to feel so great and comfortable down there.  Now it is a run-down shit-box.  I miss it, this much is true, but not do I ever want to go back down there now.  If I could relive my time there I would, but I’d never want to work there now.

Today Marilyn looked beautiful.  Being sick she had lost a lot of weight and it showed.  She looks good to me either way, but looks good now too.

********** **************

I worked a lot on typing in my journal entries in both tuesday and fleeting glimpse.  I received a package from Morris publishing today.  I am a step closer to self-publishing ‘til the streetlights came on.  I finished all of my insights for that too.  I also wrote a letter to 2.13.61, asking for advice about starting a book company.

********** **************

It has been exactly one month since I was with Aaralyn.  One month since that amazing night.

“O sun which clears all mists from troubled sight, such joy attends your rising that I feel as grateful to the dark as to the light.”

- Dante Alighieri, The Inferno

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january 13th, 2002 - sunday

I awoke rather early for going to bed at 5:00  a.m.  Marilyn called me to say she was going with her mom and Morgan to see Beauty and the Beast at the Imax theatre.  So I couldn’t hang with her today.  If I was wanting to, that is.

I started reading The Outsider and listening to the Requiem for a Dream score.  My dad popped his head in to say that he was making lunch and that it would be ready in about twenty minutes.  He also added that there is something we need to talk about.   So I went and ate with my parents and they told me Jarrod fucked up.  He got a DUI down outside of Pittsburgh, KS.  So he’s in jail.  This didn’t bother me at all.  My mom kept saying, “Don’t tell anybody, don’t tell anybody.”  She gets on my nerves so much because she cares too much about what other people think.  Fuck people and their judging asses!

I’m at work now, quietly hating everything.  This fucking guy came up and he smelled so horrible.  He smelled like that smell when you haven’t washed your balls in a day or so.  But times that by a few years.  You know that sweaty ball smell?

Work went by quickly and wasn’t so bad.  Except for the sweaty ball guy.

I was thinking about some things on my way home.  Mainly about how I am the outsider in my family.  At least when compared to my brother.  My parents have always done more with and for him.  Jarrod played baseball with my dad as one of the coaches for probably seven years.  He worked for my dad when he was fourteen, and fifteen.  And Jarrod and my parents love Nascar and sports.  When I don’t care for either at all.

Never was my dad a coach for my team.  I never worked for him either.  I’ve always done things on my own.  And not a day goes by that I, in most ways,  don’t relish in that fact.

“The Outsider‘s first business is to know himself.”

- Colin Wilson, The Outsider

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january 12th, 2002 - saturday

I forgot to mention something that happened last night.  Before going to Will’s pad remember that I wrote, “Time to go join the repetition.”  I got to Will’s and it was Luke, Will and I.  When Marilyn got there she gave Will and I a present.  A picture frame with a picture of Tim, Will, Derek, Kirk and I.  I looked at the picture and noticed that I was wearing my hooded Linkin Park sweatshirt.  Which I was also wearing last night.  The picture was taken about a month earlier at Will’s house.  I said to everyone, “Well, I’m wearing the exact same clothes.  Who wants to bet me that Tim and Kirk are wearing the same shirts too?”  Five minutes later Kirk and Tim walked through the door, Kirk wearing his Metallica “And Justice For All” shirt, and Tim his Warrant “Rock Or Fuckin’ Die” shirt.  The same two shirts they were wearing in the picture.  This only goes to prove that every weekend is the same.

********** **************

Worked from 4:00 p.m. to 11:00 p.m. tonight.  Two girls in Concession called in so all of the Door people had to go back there.  Leaving me to clean all of the shows by myself.  I was so happy.  Not really.  The whole night I was hostile and just pissed off at how the place is run and how our General Manager doesn’t do shit.  Lance was all bragging about how Mr. Quint was gonna talk to whoever about making Lance a Manager and moving him up to Booth.  I told him it won’t happen and even if he did he wouldn’t get any more money.  He looked at me like I didn’t know what I was talking about and he was so much better than me.  Lance really does nothing except talk about how much he hates this place.  He complains about the people, the money and always wants nights off to go do shit, mainly go see movies at other theatres.  I’d be extremely pissed off if he became a Manager.  I mean, shit, he already makes more than me and I am supposedly a Manager already.

********** **************

Marilyn called me while I was driving home from work and we talked and argued for about twenty minutes.  She is pissed that I never want, actually, never make, time to see her.  And that I should go see her more instead of her always having to come see me.  I don’t know.

I want to be alone with her but it’d prevent me from moving on.  Her too.  And I can’t just leave her alone and forget her either.  Because I don’t want to.

********** **************

Sometimes at work I feel transparent.  People know I’m there, they can just see through me.  They see inside me and know that, think that, they are better.  They are set in their thoughts and ways that they love laughing at me because I am lost.  Feel lost really.  They think I am stupid for actually trying to be independent.  Doing things differently.  Trying to be something.  Something besides a spoke on a wheel.  I would love to go on a rampage with a machine gun and kill as many people as I could.  Not only in the workplace but anywhere.  I’d do this if I knew that people wouldn’t forget.  They would hear about it on CNN or MSNBC and fear that something like this could happen to them and then everyone would be cordial to everyone else.

But only for a week.

Am I being cynical?

********** **************

I listened to the first side of the first tape of Inferno by Dante.  I am unfortunately unable to read along with it.  The audio book’s translation was done by Robert Plasky, and the book’s translation was done by John Ciardi.  And strangely, hardly any of the lines were the same.

I then read about half a chapter in The Outsider.  My mind was wandering too much so I didn’t get anything out of it.  I still have about thirty to forty unread books that I need to get to, as well as get to work on my own stuff.  I’m productive, yes.  But productive enough?  No.

********** **************

I am going over the idea of writing a letter of inquiry to 2.13.61, Henry Rollin’s book company.  Asking them a few questions about getting started, marketing and distributing and all of that jazz.  This book thing is something I really want to do.

I need to work out a schedule, a system of doing things.  I really want to start working out, reading more, and writing even more.  But to do that I have to map it all out.  I should divvy out my time accordingly.  Don’t be so quick to take off and waste time for five hours watching people drink and play video games.  There is so much more out there.

“Through me you enter into the city of woes.  Through me you enter into eternal pain.  Through me you enter the population of loss.”

- Dante Alighieri, The Inferno

[thetuesdayjournals-blog]

january 11th, 2002 - friday

4:00 p.m. now.  Been here at work in the Box Office since 12:00 p.m.  Slow day.  Lot of time to read and think.  I started and have read half of Rollin’s Do I Come Here Often?  I’m liking it a lot so far.  I read what Henry is feeling about the things he does and how it kills him because people are so fake and worthless.  He hates talking to people and hates signing shit.  I would love to do that.  Of course, I say that now.  I’m sure after a week, if even that, I’d fucking hate it too.  But he is Henry Rollins, The Man.  Fuck I mean, he hangs with Selby, THE MAN MAN, man.  It’d be amazing to sit down with these two cats and just talk.  Selby, Rollins, and Coker.  Three generations of emotionally-driven Outsiders.

********** **************

People at work, our patrons I mean, really get on my nerves.  Do they know how stupid and childish they become just because they have to wait in line for something?  Signs all over and they still ask questions.  Even if they spend five minutes staring at a sign they don’t comprehend it and ask stupid questions.  I should get an award for Best Actor for doing the job I do.  Each new customer I act fresh, and perky and nice.  I say, “Thank you,” and “Enjoy your show.”  And these people smile at me as if they deserve my respect.  They say, “Well thank you,” as if I am really doing them in particular a real service.  “We push fucking buttons.”  To quote Randal from Clerks.  And not even the buttons I’d like to push.  They see me in my shirt and tie, most of the time clean shaven and suave, and they think I am some fucking good, rich, little, pure, white, Christian boy.  Have I gone off about this before?  What would they think if they knew I cuss at them behind their backs.  Calling them, “Assholes, Cock-Suckers, and Cunts” for reasons as small as standing blocking my line for ten seconds or asking me for the time.

(sighs)

I understand what Henry says about feeling like an alien.  I always feel out of place.  I don’t know these people that surround me in my life and they don’t know me.  And we all keep up this pretense, this false façade, “Well if you don’t bother me, I won’t bother you.”  And it’s bullshit.  Why should I be nice, go out of my way to make this person, these people, feel fucking invincible?  I shouldn’t go out of my way to be hurtful or rude, but I shouldn’t feel bad if I don’t fucking feel cheery and make them happy.  I should suck their cocks and let them fuck me in my ass, let them use me so they can feel better about themselves?  For what?  Why?  Because I have  job title that should supposedly dictate my behavior?  I hate it, having to pretend to be nice to these mindless, mainstream fucking sheep.  It kills a part of me each time I act for them.  I’m not myself and it hurts.  I have to put who I am in the back of my mind just to sell a sheep a ticket to a movie?  I’m so nice to them that when I get home I am so emotionally drained that I feel like grabbing my parents and smashing them against  a wall for asking me about my day?  I just wanna scream, “Leave me the fuck alone!”  I am not only a social outsider, I am also an outsider in my own mind at times.  I treat these fucking people like royalty and smile at them, when I would really like to yell and curse them and spit blood on the glass between us.  Better yet, punch through the glass and grab them and smash their faces against the wall for being so mindless.  For not doing things for themselves but to keep up with the status quo of society.

I don’t know where my passion comes from.  I seem to be the only person in my family that shows or feels any emotion.  Hides emotions is more of my game, but the point is I have feelings and things to hide.  No one else in my family, as far as I know, hurts when thinking about the past and the future.  Am I alone in crying at night knowing that I can never have these things I love and want so badly?  Relive these treasured times?  Why am I the only one that feels?  I know my parents love me and will do anything to help me.  I know it, but I can’t say I feel it.  There is a difference.  No one ever tells me, “Good job”, or “I love you.”  They don’t show any interest in anything I do.  Are they afraid to ask me something?  Tell me they’re proud?  They only show they care when I fuck up or am close to getting in trouble for something.  Which is good, but rarely ever happens.

I have been writing for five years.  Do you know how many times my parents have asked me to let them read my work?

Zero.

My brother has read part of red brick enigma but only because him and I read some of it aloud together.  And he has read two or three of my shorter writings, but I kind of forced him.  Even though my brother shows interest in my videos I made and my talent in writing I feel he is only using it to show off himself to other people.  Showing off that his brother is talented.  Do you understand?  He tells this to others but rarely to me.

I came home and just sat down before I stared writing all of this.  There was no dinner left because no one knew I was gonna be home.  I feel so drained around them.  They are so caught up in useless shit it makes me feel weird.  It makes them happy so I am glad for them.  Yet if I died they wouldn’t know what to say about me.  They would have to sift through all of my writings in order to understand.  And still they wouldn’t have the whole me.  There is still a billion things I’ve seen and done that I haven’t and never will write about.  I think they should know this already.  But they don’t.

********** **************

Although, I don’t know anything about them either.  So I am just as equal to blame.  But this is my journal and it’s all about me.  And I know sometimes it’s about me too much.

Sometimes I can talk movies and music with my dad.  He reads about movies in the paper and Playboy, but rarely goes to see them.  Most of his music is older stuff that I don’t go for, but we do have a large common ground in that area.

My brother and I talk movies and music occasionally as well.  We are like fire and ice though.  He likes The Fast and the Furious and I like Requiem for a Dream.

I wish I could talk books and writing with them, but they don’t read.  I’d love to talk about Selby and Kerouac.

(sighs)

I know that I never will because they are who they are.  And for them to do things for me to be happy they would not be themselves.

********** **************

9:30 p.m. on a Friday night.  The night I have been waiting for all week and I feel like shit.  I’ve been off work, showered and ready to go out since 7:00 p.m.  Waiting, waiting, always waiting.  Fun times.  I read more of Rollins and started to fall asleep.  Not from the book.  I hate this sometimes.  No nights are ever just cool.  It’s all sitting and waiting.  Waiting for Will to get home.  Waiting for him to call.  Waiting for Tim to call us back.  This is something I noticed when I was sixteen, seventeen, and eighteen.  All of our high school weekends were spent waiting.  Waiting for someone to get off of work.  To pick someone up.  Find some beer and all of that stupid shit.  It has almost come to the point with alcohol that it is rare that we enjoy each others’ company without it.  It’s sad.  Really, we have to be drunk to enjoy one another.  This is our life and it’s slowly being wasted by waiting for it to begin.

I want so much for my life to be different.  Even a tad bit enjoyable but I ruin everything by thinking about it too much.  All of my friends are getting together to have fun and I all I want to do is cry and yell.  I feel so alone.  All I want is to be held.  I want a woman to hold me, touch me, tell me, “It’s all going to be okay.”  I had that woman...

I still fear what lies ahead of me and all of us.  The greatest fear I have right now is for someone I know and love to become someone I knew and loved.

Everything eventually fades away.

Writing and thinking of this mentality helps me see why and how people can kill themselves.

I never will.

If I go insane by the time I’m fifty however, I wouldn’t be surprised.

Time to go join the repetition.  Later

********** **************

LATER.  Went to Will’s.  It began the same, stayed the same, and ended the same.

Not too long after I arrived, so did Marilyn and Morgan.  Which is fine.  Marilyn was cheery and feeling good and it was so great to see her.  She, like always, was so amazingly beautiful.  I love watching her move through the room and talking to everyone, all of the guys I mean, and watching their smiles brighten.  Except I like it more when she ends with me and we kiss and touch.  Not having that is hard.

I was pulled back at first.  I sat on the love-seat staring off into space and not wanting to be involved.  I was on the outside and didn’t want to be talked to.  I wanted Marilyn to come to me and touch me and hold me.  Since she couldn’t and didn’t, I only retreated more.  If I had a shell I would have hidden inside it.

Will, Tim, Kirk, Luke, Derek, Morgan, Marilyn, Jennster, Kelly 2.0, Daniel, and myself were all of the people there.  Eleven people throughout the entire night.  Nine at one time was the most.  Jennster and I sat on the couch together after Marilyn left, and we flirted and talked.  We were joking sexually.  I asked her, “If we were alone do you think something would happen?”  Her answer was, “Probably.”

I can’t let myself be alone with her no matter how bad I want to.  It just can’t be done.  I can’t handle anything like that now.  As much as I want and need Marilyn back I know it’d not be for the best, not now.

I am delving too far into my darkness right now.  I am too far away for anyone to be with me for more than a night.  And even if it was only for a night it’d only put me further into my pain.

********** **************

Luke was being a drunk fool tonight.  He drank the fucking place dry.  At one point we thought he was gonna puke.  He then started crying and having an anxiety attack, much like Derek a few years ago camping.  It passed after a few minutes, then he tried to take another shot.  We had to pry the shot out of his hands.  Then Derek and Kelly 2.0 took him home.  He puked out the window of the car I guess, on the way home.  The anxiety attack, as far as we could tell, was stemming from not being around us or any of his friends for so long.

I asked Derek about Aaralyn.  About the possibilities of him and her becoming an item.  He thinks it is a good possibility.  And don’t think I’m jealous, I really am not.

Aaralyn.

That girl has something about her.  Something I can’t describe.  A strange attraction.

As much as I loved the night we shared.  I hate myself more and more for it everyday.  I feel stupid for opening up and letting her in.  I was a chump, a sucker.  She acted like she really cared about me, like she really wanted to know.  She wanted to know everything and I told her everything.  I exposed myself, which only opened an almost healed wound.  As much as I want to be with her and know her, I don’t know if I could take being around her anymore.  She is a good person, I have just made things weird in my head.  This is just more pain and punishment, for things in my past.  I hurt people and used people, used their weakness to get away with it.  Now I am the one whose weakness was used and thrown back in my face.  I will burn for this for a long time.

All I want is to be with someone, loved.  Yet it is the one thing right now that’ll kill me inside the most.  I am stuck in an emotional limbo.  No solutions.  No choices.  Choices?  Give in and love and risk the pain?  Shut out the love, hide myself, block everyone out and take that pain?  Either way I will hurt and be hurt.

“You’re muckin’ with a G, you fuckin’ tracer!”

- Chasing Amy, film.

********** **************

I would hate to think that all of these questions of love and relationships is coming from a place of sexual frustration.  I’ve not had sex in almost a month and a half.  Nor really done anything really intimate with anyone.  A little, but nothing that was emotionally penetrating.  In a good way.

“Now that, my friend, was a shared moment.”

- Chasing Amy, film.

[thetuesdayjournals-blog]

january 10th, 2002 - thursday

Didn’t get up until just before having to go to work at 4:00 p.m.  I guess it’ll only be Eric and I up here in Booth tonight.  We have to break down a print of Ali and don’t have to move anything.  Eric watched our print of Orange Country  last night.  But we’ll probably run it again so Mr. Quint and I can watch it.

Interesting Story: Eric and I were discussing how we would like to travel and live somewhere else for a year or so.  He told me his friend lives in Germany because he moved there to be closer to this exchange student he went to school with.  While we were talking Loni walks underneath us, we were standing on the balcony, as she was going to see movie with her friends.  One of her friends was tall with long, red hair and was very attractive, from behind at least. (tee hee)  Come to find out she is a German exchange student.  Weird.

Another interesting bit of coincidence: Last night at Kirk’s I talked with Luke on the phone for about half an hour.  Him still in Texas mind you.  He said he might be getting laid off for awhile, but wasn’t sure.  He said if he did he would come back here to live and still pay his rent down there for his apartment.  But if he’s off for more than three months he might run out of money.  He calls me today and it turns out he did get laid off and is already back in Kansas.  Cool.

********** **************

I was downstairs earlier, talking to a newer girl named Stacey and she told me that her friend thought I was hot.  Come to find out her friend is a gay guy.  I guess he saw me down there awhile ago and liked me.  She told him that I was straight.  Sorry, bud.  She feared that I would be offended by her telling me this.  I’m not and wasn’t then.  In fact, in some way it was kind of cool.  I’ve never been told I was hot by a gay guy before.  It’s a new one for me.  I told Eric this and he just laughed.

********** **************

I’ve thought about Aaralyn a lot today.  Tim left me a voice mail and I still have the voice mail from her on there and I listened to it.

(sighs)

Plus last night I read over the entry from the night her and I spent together.

********** **************

Last night I finished reading Rollins’ Black Coffee Blues.  I really enjoyed it.  His “124 Worlds” was great, as well as his “61 Dreams.”  Once again I am going to try and log all of my dreams.

“That night I had a dream.  And though it made me sick.  I saw you in your bedroom sucking someone else’s-- Oh, my goodness!”

- Sublime, song: “Let’s Go Get Stoned”

********** **************

I have too many things to do right now.  Too many things I want to do I should say.  And it’s true that most of them I don’t even put effort into.  Here’s the list of things I am working on/wanting to work on:

halsey & 51st screenplay.  halsey & 51st novel.  10-14: the epic saga screenplay.  10-14: the epic saga novel.  The Willow Tree adapted screenplay.  it’s always tuesday at my house journal.  6n8t7 book of short stories and prose.  fleeting glimpse, dream journal.  Movie Mistakes, book of well, movie mistakes.  A new book of poetry.  into the darkness, my making of halsey & 51st journal.  good night sweet girl: a farewell to tripsy.  As well as story boards and scene breakdowns and shot-lists for red brick enigma, halsey & 51st and eventually 10-14.

********** **************

Work went by rather fast but boring nonetheless.  After work, Elliott, Eric’s friend, came up and we all hung out.  I broke down Ali and we then watched Orange County.  It was rather funny.  Sadly, the dick-head frat buddy in the movie was just like me.  “I want to be a writer.  Poetry, novels, screenplays.”

After the screening we beat up Meg Ryan and Hugh Jackman.  Or a cardboard standee of them at least.

********** **************

Talked with Tim on the phone tonight.  He wants to converse with me tomorrow about our poetry reading/book publishing ideas.

********** **************

On the subject of Marilyn and I, I feel we are becoming close to one another again.  Which is great, but I thought about a realization I have had before.  When thinking about my future with Marilyn, my possible future, and if someday we get married I fear we would turn into my parents.  Me wanting more from my life and ignore her and act as if she is holding me back.  Her growing contempt towards me and being a hypochondriac, like my mother.  I don’t know.  This is the major deterrent of settling down.

(sighs)

I only have to do poem insights for “self-titled,” and “the unicorn.”  I have also started typing fleeting glimpse into the computer.  I have a lot more dreams logged than I thought.  Still not a lot though.

********** **************

5:00 a.m. (friday)  Have to be at work at 11:30 a.m., haven’t slept yet.

“And if your head explodes with dark forebodings too.  I’ll see you on the dark side of the moon.”

- Pink Floyd, song: “Brain Damage”

[thetuesdayjournals-blog]

january 9th, 2002 - wednesday

Played the original Resident Evil today and boy was it weird.  It has been years since I have played it.  Plus after playing RE: CVX on PS2, the first one looks like shit.

I also worked on my poem insights.  I have about twenty left.

Marilyn is out of the hospital and back home so that’s good.

I went over to Kirk’s about 8:00 p.m. and we watched television and went to Borders.  I bought the audio tape of Inferno by Dante, as read by John Cleese.  I am gonna listen to it as I read the book.

I really wish I would have written throughout the day.  It’s now early Thursday morning and I am trying to recall everything I did and felt.  I left Kirk’s around 11:00 p.m. and went and filled up with gas and happened to see Katie H---.  She was always a cutie.  I was gonna go over and talk to her but a friend of hers pulled up.  I came home and did more typing.  I only have about fifteen more insights to do.

“How memories lie to us.  How time coats the ordinary with gold.  How it breaks the heart to go back and attempt to relive them.”

- Henry Rollins, Black Coffee Blues

[thetuesdayjournals-blog]

january 8th, 2002 - tuesday

Slept most of the day but did get up and do some insights for my poems.  I did about a dozen.  Last night after I wrote my entry I was reading Rollins’ Black Coffee Blues and a part of it called “124 Worlds.”  Which is basically 124 various short little stories.  Some are a paragraph, some could be a page.  They are just short little ironic, quirky, violent, and sad stories.  I have started to do some.  I’m not copying Rollins’ really, just an idea of his.  I have all of these little stories that I want to tell and I feel that each one must be told in some grandiose way.  Not true.  If I have a story, albeit short, tell it the way you want.  So far I have written 1 through 9.  That way I won’t be pissed when some small, little story of mine is wasted and never used.  Most of them I just throw together and try and make a big story out of it and that takes time.  I am gonna keep doing this until I get to a number I feel is sufficient to call a collection of them.  Then start again.

********** **************

Marilyn called me from the hospital.  She went to the doctor today because she was feeling really bad and he said she needed to be put into the hospital.  I went and visited her about 8:00 p.m., she was in room 237.  For those of you who know, know.  The Shining? Halloween 6 playing homage to The Shining?  No?

Tangent:  In The Shining room 237 was the room Danny and the Cook feared and is also where Jack encounters the freaky naked chick.  In Halloween 6: The Curse Of Michael Myers, Kara is locked in a room and paying homage to The Shining the room number is 237.

Back To The Story:  Marilyn’s parents were there, and Morgan and some friends had just left.  Not long after I arrived so did Stephanie.  I sat on Marilyn’s bed by her legs and just stared at her smiling and frowning.  Although very sick, and puffy looking, she was still very beautiful to me.  She was watching 7th Heaven for some reason, but anyway.  I was looking at her and she was looking at me and we heard, “Because I need you to need me,” come from the television.  I heard it and I believe she did.  I nodded in agreement.  So did she.  I don’t know if she was feeling and thinking what I was.

********** **************

At 9:00 p.m. I left and picked up some French Vanilla coffee shit and went over to Kirk’s.  We played video games until about 12:00 a.m.  I am really enjoying RE:CVX.  It is a lot harder than the others but very cool.

I got home and worked on the computer until almost 2:45 a.m.  I did about thirty or more poem insights.  It is a lot harder than I first thought it would be.  I really can not describe what a lot of my poems mean.

********** **************

I thought about Rachel F--- tonight, I don’t recall if I have ever spoken about her in here before.  I know I have written about her in a journal, but it must have been mad jack.  Anyway, I met her  Junior Year, she was friends with Brandon S---.  She stayed the night one night and we had sex.  I talked to her twice after that on the phone but have not seen her since.  That was September of 1998.  I thought, almost had a premonition, that I will someday cross her path.  I really feel I will.

On the same note I also thought about this girl named Mindy, who I had met at Tuttle Creek back during the Summer of 1997.  We met and made out a few times knowing we would never see one another again.  I knew though, even back then, that I’d still remember her.  I told her that I’d be famous someday and told her to remember me.

What made me think about this was watching the 2001 MTV Movie Awards rerun and I imagined being up on that stage and making an announcement for her to call me.  I know that if I ever did that a lot of people would try to claim to be her, but luckily, although sadly for her, she has a very distinguishable mark.  A heart-surgery scar on her chest.

I have a lot of stories from my past that I would love to tell.  Someday I will start my collection of past events throughout my childhood, teens and high school book.

Finished Rollins’ “124 Worlds.”  Up to number 14 in my collection.

Bed time.

“It’s what you think of yourself.  No one else can judge you.  No one knows you.  You do what you do and that’s it.”

- Henry Rollins, Black Coffee Blues

[thetuesdayjournals-blog]

january 7th, 2002 - monday

Kirk called me today at 12:30 p.m., he didn’t go into work.  Too sick to work he says, but not too sick to have me come over and play video games.  Hey, I’m not complaining.  Chilled to music while doing the dishes and cleaning up.  Then went over to Kirk’s around 2 p.m. or 2:30 p.m.  Spent all day there playing RE: CVX, GTA3, and Metal Gear Solid 2.  More important than that though was that we spent time together.  Which we have not done, just him and I for a whole day, in a long time.  Driving over there I was thinking about an idea that he had brought up the night before, and that we have also talked about a few years back.  Halloween and Phantasm video games for Playstation.  So I thought about it on my way over and also while there.  I jotted down some ideas for levels, sections, characters and all of that, and of course an overall story for the games.  It’d be cool if done right.  Not that we could ever do it.  Though someday I will spend some time working on a layout and treatment for the game.  You never know.

I left Kirk’s and came home at about 10:30 p.m. and watched Blind Date until my mom came up from the basement.  Then I got on the computer.  Redoing my layout for my book of poetry.  I’m still debating whether to put the poem insights in there or not.  At least in the first printing of the book, if ever published.

I didn’t mention that last night when Tim came over that we discussed our book publishing ideas and how I’d like to publish and sell not only my work but others also.  Tim liked the idea but is only interested right now in getting his own work out there.  He has also thought more about the poetry readings, he really likes that idea and wants to try and do it. 

I know that I’ve said and keep saying things that I either don’t do or just haven’t done, or say I’m gonna do, then change my mind.  But I am definitely, at least going to try, and write not only halsey & 51st as a novel, but 10-14: the epic saga also. (which I mentioned last night)  After September 11th I canceled 10-14:the epic saga.  Now I want to do it more than ever.  And a great deal of that goes to P.O.D. and their song, “Youth of a Nation.”  Both halsey & 51st and 10-14 are stories that if I don’t ever tell I will never be content with my life.

I hate lying down to go to bed knowing that I did not accomplish or even try to accomplish a single fucking thing I said I would today.  When will I learn?

“I must surrender to win.”

- Hubert Selby, Jr.

[thetuesdayjournals-blog]

january 6th, 2002 - sunday

Today at work Loni and I were in Box together and we talked all day about everything you could.  Music, religion, sex, dreams, everything.  It was cool.  She is one of those extremely religious types and from my perspective it hinders her thinking, but she still is very cool and open to things.  As you well know.  Most of the day we just talked about me, my things, my dreams and my future plans.  She doesn’t know what she wants out of life.  She’ll figure it out someday.

********** **************

Tim called me earlier and told me about this other printing house/publishing company that adds a small fee for marketing and promotional things.  That’ll definitely be something to look into.

I have about forty minutes until I get off.  I’m gonna try and hang with Tim and maybe Will, depending on what Will wants to do.

Tomorrow, Monday, and Tuesday I don’t work and I so fucking need to work on halsey & 51st or something.  Work on the screenplay or try to layout the treatment to be done as a novel.  I now almost definitely want to finish, start again and finish, 10-14: the epic saga both as a screenplay and as a possibly three part novel.  If I write the screenplay and novel at the same time does that still qualify it for a Original Screenplay Oscar?

********** **************

Got home a little before 7:00 p.m., ate and watched The Simpsons.  Went over to Kirk’s a little after 8:00 p.m. and he and I went to rent some video games at Video Library.  He got Grand Theft Auto 3 again, and I got Resident Evil: Code Veronica X.  I ran into Natalie L--- at Video Library and we shared a few words.  She said she was tired of being on break from college.  The way she said it though was as if she assumed I too was going to college.  I didn’t tell her I wasn’t.  She was always a nice gal, very pretty.  I told her maybe I’d see her again in a few more years.

Kirk and I grabbed some French Vanilla coffee shit and headed back to his house and played video games all night.  Tim came over and it was just the three of us.  He gave me a copy of a new poem.  I am gonna type a bit then turn in.

“I am always with myself, and it is I who am my tormentor.”

- Leo Tolstoy, Memoirs of a Mad Man

[thetuesdayjournals-blog]

january 5th, 2002 - saturday

Stayed in bed until about 3:00 p.m.  I was awake since 12:00 p.m. but I just lied in bed watching television.

Got to work at 4:45 p.m. and for the whole half hour driving to work all I thought about was self-publishing my own book.  Then trying to start my own company.  I know I have all of these ambitions but they all are possible.  Try and sell my own and see how well that goes and with the money, if any, I make, I can try and get others to submit short stories, essays, and poems for a Chicken Soup type of book.  It could work.

********** **************

At work I pissed off one of the manager’s something fierce.  She started giving me shit about not wearing a shirt and tie and I gave her shit right back because I am tired of being treated like a fucking schmuck.  I, normally, am the only one dressed up anyway.  I’m in fucking limbo and it pisses me off.  I am not a regular employee and I’m not a manager.  I’m supposed to be acting and dressing like a manager but not get paid like one and not have any respect like one.  Fuck that cunt!  I can’t stand that bitch!

********** **************

Lance and I were in Box all night together and it was pretty cool.  We just chilled to Sublime and made fun of all of our customers.  That girl Lindsay, her family came down.  Lance had them in his line and recognized Lindsay’s sister.  About 10:15 p.m. or so I got a phone call on the work phone and it turned out to be Lindsay.  We talked for a little while.  She had lost my phone number which is why she never called.  Although I suspect she wouldn’t have called anyway.  I gave it to her again nonetheless.  Maybe she’ll call me sometime and we’ll talk again.

********** **************

I’m home now, typing in old journal entries and watching this show called Cheaters.  Damn, guys like me are really fucking assholes.

I just prepared some phrases in the Masonic Alphabet to use in hidden places throughout my work.  Most likely on the covers of my books.  See if you can find them and decipher them some day.

Linkin Park’s “In The End” video has things written in the Masonic Alphabet.  I’m gonna try and decipher them right now.  I’ll come back with the results.

********** **************

I wrote down all of the markings and deciphered most of them.  I don’t believe all of them are right, but the ones I deciphered are: Linkin Park, Mark, Hannah, Mr. Hahn, and Karma.  I question others, Minutz, Bradsy, Lurchen, and Deadsy.  Linkin Park and Hannah were both used twice.  I’ll work on it more sometime.

“Wasn’t that fun?  Now, let’s try something else?”

- Linkin Park, song: “Cure For the Itch”

[thetuesdayjournals-blog]

january 4th, 2002 - friday

I listened to Ben Folds’ “Still Fighting It,” about five times while driving to work.  I surprisingly got up early enough to shower before going.

Projector #10 is out of order.  Mr. Dick is spending most of the day working on it.  Jimmy Neutron is splitting that theatre with Ocean’s 11 but since it doesn’t run I have to run Jimmy in number 13 and not run Not Another Teen Movie.

I jotted down, in 6n8t7, a few ideas for short stories.  One which I have actually written before a few years back in summer school with Mr. West.  Which would’ve been after my Sophomore year.   In fact, I wrote a lot of stuff that summer in that class, all of which I don’t have in my possession anymore.  I believe that my writing, all of it, actually stems from that time.  Although I believe I was writing screenplays before that.  But as for poetry and other mediums, no.  Summer school was basically three sections in that class.  We’d got outside to a nearby park at Shawnee Mission East and spend an hour and a half writing, then take a break.  An hour and a half in class doing work, then take a break.  And the final hour and a half we’d be in the computer lab.  I remember vividly, sitting on a bench in that park writing a lot of stuff, stuff that I thought was actually good.  Now it’s all gone.  From my head even.

********** **************

All day I have been contemplating giving Aaralyn a call to see how she is and what she is up to tonight.  I have not done so and doubt I will.  I still don’t believe she is going to call me or try and talk to me anytime at all.  Why can’t she confront me if she feels I did something wrong?  Maybe she will cross my path tonight when I am hanging with the guys.

“Ya’ll don’t know what its like being male, middle class, and white.  It gets me real pissed off and makes me wanna say, FUCK!”

- Ben Folds, song: “Rockin’ the Suburbs”

Tell me about it Ben.  Tell me about it.

********** **************

5:00 p.m. Half an hour before I get to go home and begin my Friday night.

I was listening to POD’s “Youth of a Nation,” while driving home tonight and I got this, actually crafted this, extremely disturbing visual in my head.  I will probably use it in halsey & 51st, even though I doubt the MPAA will allow me to leave it in.  If the film is ever made.

********** **************

My house is so fucking pathetic.  Almost every night when I pull up outside I see these eyes peeking out from behind the window and blinds.  It’s so fucking sad.  Most of the time if we’re all home and the doorbell rings everyone freaks out and almost hides like fucking beasts.  It is so strange for someone to come to our door.  We hide behind the walls of our house and think that we are so much better than the rest of the world.  Then when someone from that outside world enters our abode we are shocked.  What ever happened to open-minded people who understood trust?  We have neighbors but it’s as if they are only there if we choose to acknowledge them.  There hasn’t been a community here since the 80’s.  Everyone is on their own.  It’s survival of the fittest: Suburban Family Style.

********** **************

I don’t believe I have mentioned this but Marilyn has Mono.  She is really feeling like major shit.  I went over to her house for about an hour and a half and watched the end of Happy Gilmore.  I really hope she starts to feel better soon.

I went down to Will’s and all of the guys showed up after me.  Tim, Kirk, Derek, Dan, and eventually Jennster.

I pulled Derek aside for a minute and asked him about Aaralyn.  It is obvious, and always has been obvious, that he likes her and she him.  Which, or so I believe, is his motive behind breaking up with Jennster.  Even though they did have their own problems.  I explained to Derek that I need closure from Aaralyn and asked him to talk to her for me.

Jennster and I were flirting heavily tonight.  We talked about what she was feeling in relation to her and Derek and she told me, although I already inferred this, that she is really confused about the whole thing.  I wished so much that I could have told her there was an easy way to deal with all of this, being alone and all, but there isn’t.  And it is just something that you have to, over time, learn to accept and live with.

We joked about what it would be like if her and I dated.  It wouldn’t last more than a week.  I’d need things that she couldn’t or wouldn’t give me, and vice versa.  Although I do believe I am thinking too small of her.  She is more than she lets on.  Derek was lying asleep on her and she was leaning on me a bit, with her head on a pillow, which was on my shoulder.  Underneath that pillow her and I were touching hands, twiddling our fingers playfully.

“Is there any feeling behind that?” I ask.

“Maybe.”

“An honest question deserves an honest response,” I add.

She says, “Same question to you?”

“Maybe.”

“You smart-ass.”

“Yes,” I say.

“Yes,” She says.

Nothing but friendship is all that Jennster and I could have.  In order for us to have anything more, one of us would have to be completely different.  And we all know from my past, that I am hard to change.  Marilyn tried for two years and I’m still a prick.

********** **************

I discovered something tonight, had an epiphany if you will.  That above all things in this world, nothing makes me happier than just sitting and watching my friends Will, Tim and Kirk.  No matter what they are doing.  However stupid, trivial or just plain moronic.  Just watching them.  These men love me and I them.  They all have been there for almost ten years a piece and will be there for more.  They’ll kill for me, and die for me.  Hopefully, I’d only ask them for the first part.

Boo yah!

If I die and someone asks the question, “Who was Brett Alan Coker really?”  Answer with the following:

“Brett Alan Coker was a man (trying to be a man) who loved his friends more than anything!”  (and a cheerleader fetishist)

That, I think, would be a good note to end the day on, but I’m gonna ruin it.  I am gonna dampen the mood by telling you the All-Time Sickest And Most Fucked-Up Joke.  Which is now taking the spot of this joke:

A Pedophile and a young boy are walking through the woods late at night.  The Boy says, “Geez Mister this place is really dark and scary.”

To which the Pedophile replies, “Tell me about it kid, I gotta walk outta here alone.”

That was the sickest, now this one is.  And I am only telling you it so I don’t have to suffer by myself with this thing in my head.

How do you make a ten-year-old girl cry twice?

Rub your bloody dick on her teddy bear.

So fucking sick and wrong.  And good night little kiddies, be sure to tell your parents that joke.

“Everybody knows it hurts to grow up.”

- Ben Folds, song: “Still Fighting It”

[thetuesdayjournals-blog]

january 3rd, 2002 - thursday

I am at work right now listening to The Cure’s Disintegration.  I am in Box for now, I’m supposed to be here until 5:00 p.m. and then work Booth from 8:00 p.m. to Close.  Three hour break.  I don’t know I’ll actually use all three hours.  There isn’t anybody scheduled in Box tonight so Chris Yea’Chris is gonna work it leaving Eric and I to run Booth.  And if I don’t come back until 8:00 p.m. then Eric will be alone for the entire seven o’clock round of shows.  I might just go to Best Buy and then come back.

********** **************

Today the guy from Regal Distributing fell off of his truck while making a delivery.  He fractured his arm and broke his wrist.

I tried to start a new issue of Cine/Files, but I didn’t get into it because I couldn’t think of what to write about.

Listening to this album, Disintegration, reminds me so much of over a year ago.  Around the time I worked at UPS and then here also.  Skipper (Morgan) was reading this series of books called Fearless and she talked Marilyn into reading them, who in turn talked me into reading them.  And I did.  I read parts 1 through 13.  As of now there is probably twenty or more.  The thing is it took me about two hours to read each book, and I found in order to read comfortably I had to have music on.  And this was the only album that I could have on while reading that didn’t distract me.  Which, by the way, I would have to play twice for it to take up the two hour time of reading the book.  So now, over time, I have become conditioned to both.  Whenever I hear this album I think of Fearless.  And vice versa.  The book series was really enjoyable.  It makes you feel like you really are there and know these people.  You end up caring about all of the characters.  In a way it is like that show Dark Angel but this is more about real life than future bullshit.  While reading the book series I couldn’t help but think about making it into a television series of its own.  Each book being a one hour episode.

“Carry on my wayward son.  There’ll be peace when you are done.  Lay your weary head to rest.  Don’t you cry no more.”

- Kansas, song: “Carry On Wayward Son”

********** **************

I know myself too well sometimes.  I know my taste well, at least.  I went to Best Buy on Barry Road and bought a Linkin Park “One Step Closer” import album that has “My December” and “High Voltage” on it.  Manson’s Antichrist Superstar, Ben Folds’ Rockin’ The Suburbs, Nickelback’s Silver Side Up, and POD’s Satellite.  The latter two I have always said suck, but now I am giving them a chance.  I figured that new bands, more contemporary bands, will be the old school stuff my kid’s will listen to and think is Classic Rock.  The reason I mentioned my taste is that I have been wanting to hear P.O.D.’s song, “Youth of a Nation.”  I had heard what it is about and it seemed right up my alley.  Sure enough I bought it, listened to it, and before hearing the song all the way through I loved it.  If I ever make 10-14: the epic saga  that song will definitely be in the film.

Guess who I saw at Best Buy?

Lindsay.

The one I met a long time ago and saw back in November.  We crossed each other’s path in one of the CD aisles.  She saw me and I saw her.  All I said was, “I know you.” and gave her a suave/quirky little smile.  We kept connecting eyes whenever we saw each other in the store.  She was with her boyfriend so she couldn’t stop and talk to me.  If she even wanted to that is.  Wonder if she’ll call.

“We are, we are, the youth of a nation.”

- P.O.D., song: “Youth of a Nation”

Damn, this is a powerful fucking song.  Sad man, sad.  But true my friend, true.

I figure I should probably start keeping a list of all of the quotes I use.  In case, for some reason, this ever gets published, I, or whomever, can publish the quotes along with it.  So it’s all legal like.

“Everybody knows it hurts to grow up.  But everybody does.  It’s so weird to be back here.  Let me tell you why.  The years go on and we’re still fighting it.  And you’re so much like me, I’m sorry.”

- Ben Folds, song: “Still Fighting It”

********** **************

Got home from work about 1:30 a.m.  All night at work was rather simple.  Just talking and listening to music.

I’ve been thinking recently about breaking out my old keyboard and trying to learn a few songs.  Most likely some of Ben Folds’ tunes.

I’m printing out a copy of “A Part of Us,” for Marilyn and also one for me to put in the archives.  The I’ll type in a journal entry from December and head to bed.

“I must create my own System or be enslaved by another man’s.  My Business is not to reason and compare; my business is to create.”

- William Blake

[thetuesdayjournals-blog]

january 2nd, 2002 - wednesday

First snow of the season this morning.  Outside it is a sunny day with some pure, white snow on the ground.  Inside me, it is dark and cloudy.

Aaralyn.

She won’t call me to talk, I am almost positive.  I still have no clue what went wrong.  Is she upset at herself for what happened?  Is she embarrassed for saying and feeling some of the things she did?  The things she did?  Does she think I did something I shouldn’t have?

No matter what, if anything, comes out of that night, it still means a lot to me.  Hopefully, to her also, in some way.  To me, I saw how I can be if I allow myself.  I can open up and share feelings without feeling exposed and exploited.  I can be gentle, sweet, and not always want sexual pleasure out of it.

Marilyn.

I’ve talked to her, in little bits, a few times in the past few days.  She has a strange rash and is throwing up everything she eats.  I hope so much this is just a small stomach flu or something.  She always has something wrong with her and I feel so bad for her.  She is such a sweet girl and such a caring person and she rarely feels great or just fine even.

I had a bunch of strange dreams last night.  One in particular was that I was back in high school talking to my Radio/TV teacher Ms. G--- and my Writer’s Workshop teacher Ms. H---.  As I walked around the school I kept seeing people I knew.  The weird thing was that I had graduated already and was just visiting, yet other people that graduated with me, before and after me were still going to school there.  Micah G---, Erika L---, Joel M---.  I extremely dislike dreams about high school.  High school doesn’t matter anymore.  And I no longer matter to it.  I could go back and say, “Hey” but who the fuck would really care?

********** **************

1:53 p.m. I just wrote a poem that I have been wanting to write for a while.  I’ve wanted to write it to, and for, someone who, sadly, can never read it.  “your poem,”*** is for and about Caroline Burnall, one of the victims of Columbine.  I read a book over a year ago about her that her mother had written called, She Said “Yes”.  It is a very touching book, read it if you have the chance.

********** **************

2:13 p.m. Just wrote another poem called, “free-nix.”***  Which is a play off of Phoenix and “Free Bird.”  Since the character is being reborn, rising from the ashes, becoming free and a Phoenix is a bird and the magnificent “Free Bird” is playing right now.

********** **************

Random Thought: People in this country always need answers, or justification at the least.  They can not except that some things just happen and some people just are the way they are.  I thought a few minutes ago, as I walked by Vanilla Sky and saw the disfigured Tom Cruise, how interesting it would be to have a disfigured face.  It would make people so easy to deal with.  You would find out who your true-friends are and your true-love.  And I do understand that there are probably a few downsides to it.  But people in general would probably be more at ease with me, I’d think.  If they read my poetry, prose, screenplays, and short stories they would not be able to understand how stuff that dark and fucked up could come from what looks like a good, clean-cut, white, American, suburban,  Christian boy.  What looks like I said.  I am not good, clean-cut, or a Christian.  I am just a white, suburban, American boy.  Most people would probably think or say that I was raped as a child or my parents beat me and I lived a traumatic childhood, in order for them to understand.  They would much prefer that, believe me.  Then they could sleep at night thinking that they have all of the answers to the universe’s questions.  If they read halsey & 51st they would be like, “Who could come up with something so dark and disgusting?”  And then they’d see a picture of little disfigured me and they’d say, “Oh, he’s disfigured.  He must live every day in discomfort and must have mental problems.  That's okay.”

Then they’d eat some Nutra-Grain bars, toss down some purified water, take their kids to soccer or ballet, drink Starbucks $5 cappuccino, read Dean Koontz, listen to Creed and Destiny’s Child, watch Ally McBeal and ER, go to see Kate & Leopold, read their children Harry Potter and tell them how beautiful the world is, lovelessly fuck their spouse out of routine not passion or love or want, then go to sleep knowing all of the answers.  And thinking that, I, the disfigured, quoting Chuck Palahniuk, “invisible monster,” knows nothing about hope, dreams, love or life.  Only, pain, death and discomfort, because that is what I write about and see in the world that I supposedly don’t know about.  They are the ones with their eyes open to the world, or so they’d like to think.  Eyes Wide Shut makes sense to me now, as a title or saying, that is.  They, the Insiders, have their eyes wide shut.  My eyes are wide-fucking open.  But more importantly so is my mind and heart.  I do not have the answers that they believe they have but do not also.  Yet, I am actually in search of Truth.  They are in search of comfort through mediocrity.  Am I being cynical again?

********** **************

5:00 p.m. I have been reading, off and on, Colin Wilson’s The Outsider for a while now.  Today I finished Chapter 5, “The Pain Threshold.”  The more I read of past artists, philosophers, and authors the more I feel at home.  I know my purpose.  The only questionable thing is that most of these greats, and so-called “Outsiders,” either killed themselves, or went insane.  Van Gogh killed himself.  Nijinsky, Nietzsche both went insane.  If I keep on my road of self-exploration and search for Truth, while condemning the mainstream, where will I end up?  Killing myself?  Insane?  Would giving in to the bourgeois mentality be safer?  FUCK NO!  I am a goddamned OUTSIDER!

“The only true injustice one person could do to another would be to put their pain on another’s shoulders.”

Just a random thought / quote for ya today from yours truly.

Wilson’s Outsiders: Kafka, Camus, Eliot, Hemingway, Hesse, Lawrence, Van Gogh, Nijinsky, Shaw, Blake, Nietzsche, and Dostoevsky.  And of course Wilson himself.

Coker’s Outsiders: Selby Jr., Palahniuk, Rollins, Anderson, Cichon, Bonnette, Fletcher, Berry, Romain, and of course, Coker himself.

Not to try and compare my intellect with that of Wilson or any of the chaps he studied.  My list is compiled mainly of those who I know and/or read and understand.  And these people I feel are different from the masses.  They live, like me, searching for that one thing.

“Once you confront the darkness you find within, you will also face it in the world.  Thankfully, that pertains to the lights as well.”

********** **************

Interesting story: Last week at work I was on Door with Eric for awhile.  A man comes up to the podium with some outside food and Eric tells the guy that we don’t allow outside food or drink in.  And of course the guy acts like it is a shock. (as if it’s not a normal thing for movie theatres)  And the guy claims how it is a great injustice.  Myself, Mr. Flynn, and Staci were also standing there.  We were listening and watching, but letting Eric handle it all.  The man says, “You should have that posted somewhere.”  And all at once, as if on cue, Flynn, Staci and Eric all say, “It is, it says it on the front doors.”  For the most part they stayed out of it, but everyone, with the exception of myself, jumped at the chance to prove this man wrong.  That can be used as an analogy toward our society if one were so inclined.

********** **************

Driving home tonight in a period of ten to fifteen minutes, 98.9, 93.3 both played “My Sacrifice” by Creed and 98.9, 93.3, and 96.5 all played “How You Remind Me,” by Nickelback. Two songs, on three different stations in about ten minutes!

“Variety is a spice of life my friend.”

- Chasing Amy, film.

Obviously, this world is out of spice.  Where is this millennium's Marco Polo?

********** **************

At 8:30 p.m. I went over to Marilyn’s.  She is feeling a lot better.  I guess she also has hives of some sort.  Stephanie, Morgan, Ryan and Jeff were all over there watching Mystery, Alaska.  I had forgotten that Russel Crowe was in that.  That was back when it was simply Russel Crowe, not Academy Award-Winning Russel freakin’ Crowe.  He’s cool.

I came home from there about 10:00 p.m. and spent some time typing in old journals and some Linkin Park lyrics.

I’m heading to bed.  Peace.

“Man’s life is a strange matter, and full of unreason; a buffoon may be fatal to it.”

- Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spake Zarathustra

[thetuesdayjournals-blog]

january 1st, 2002 - tuesday

The Genesis of 2002.  It all starts here.  Can’t wait to see how it all ends.

1981 - 2002.  That does feel like, and is, quite a long time.  And it will only get longer.

I begin this New Year with questions of the future and answers of the past.  I can not take comfort in either.  Both don’t suffice.

Began the day by watching the end of Darabont’s The Shawshank Redemption.  Then I watched Halloween while I rearranged stuff in my room.

Jarrod showed Emily my “Winds of Change” and “The Unforgiven” videos.  Here, once again, on a day where the future is key, I am being bombarded with memories and visions of the past.  Is anyone besides me seeing a recurring theme here?

********** **************

5:48 p.m. Just wrote a poem called, “millennial lamentation ‘02”.***  It is a sequel, somewhat, of one that I wrote in ‘99 on the verge of ‘00.***  I didn’t write one for 2001 though.  I was too busy fucking puking at Kirk’s (tee hee)

Most of the night at work was fine.  I had a bunch of Pink  Floyd with me, Dio and Kansas.  We closed at 10:40 p.m. and then Lance and I had to redo some marquee times because they were changing for tomorrow.

From about 11:30 p.m. to 12:20 p.m. Lance, Loni, and I just sat up in the Box Office with the lights off conversing about art, movies and music.  Mainly how, although they are all different mediums, they are basically the same.  It was fun wasting time and talking.

I have in my possession, most of which I have bought myself, 168 CDs.  That is quite a bit.  I bet you by the time I’m twenty-one, I will have close to 300.

Pool Shark

Lying in my plastic bed

Thinking how things weren’t so cool to me

My baby loves to shoot pool

I like lying naked in my bedroom

Tying on the dinosaur

It used to be so cool

Now I’ve got the needle

And I can’t shake

But I can’t breath.  I’d take it away

But I want more and more

One day I’m gonna lose the war

- Sublime, song.

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Not bad for the first day of the new year.  But like always I am cynical and pessimistic, so I know it can only get worse.  To what degree of worse is what is left unknown.

“Little kids shoot marbles, where branches break the sun, into graceful shafts of light.  I just wanna be pure.”

- Jim Carroll, The Basketball Diaries

[thetuesdayjournals-blog]

december 31st, 2001 - monday

The last day of the year 2001.  Four hours and fifteen minutes to go until 2002.

Another year is gone and soon another will begin.  And changes will soon arise.  I have become different since my birthday, almost three months ago.  Now I have a new year to slowly and gradually become more than what I have been.  

I am single.  I am twenty.  I am working on being financially stable.  I am being productive.  What a way to begin a new year.

Resolutions

- To make the most out of the time I have.

- To have as much fun as possible.

- To be a better friend/boyfriend; if I choose to date.

- Take all opportunities that arise.

- Focus on the future.

- Focus on my art.

- Go to school.  College or Film.

- Create, create, create.

“Follow your dreams.”

- Almost Famous, film.

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If I ever want to be what I have always wanted I have to go get it, not wait for it to come to me.  I have always known that, I’ve just never put it into practice.

This is cool, my last entry for this year, is the last entry in this notebook.  I have just under a page (front and back) left.

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Work went by fast since I was the only one in Booth.  So I had to do twice the work, which made my periods of doing nothing almost nonexistent.

I left work a little before 11:00 p.m., got gas and drove back to LX.  I ended up going over to Will’s first off.  Tim and Will were there.  I had talked to Kirk earlier and he was gonna be at Alice’s house.  Will and Tim were sitting around drinking and waiting on a phone call from a friend of Will’s from high school.  They were gonna go to a party at his place.  The friend’s place that is.  Also, I guess, Derek and Aaralyn left Will’s a few minutes before I got there.

Aaralyn.  (sighs)

It was Will, Tim and I when the clock changed from 11:59 p.m. to 12:00 a.m. and 2001 to 2002.  Oh, and of course “Free Bird” was playing.

Will and Tim left to go to that party and I felt like sulking and being depressed so I didn’t tag along.  I was going to roll around in my lonely state and go back to work, but I went over to Alice’s instead and joined their party for a while.  It was Kirk, Mike T., Alice and Claire.  We sat around for a while, them drinking, me not.  And boy was Kirk ever fucking drunk!  His voice sounded so weird because he had spent all night yelling all throughout the neighborhood.  At 1:00 a.m. Kirk went with me down to work so I could close down the Booth.  Kirk was almost ready to throw up, but still having a lot of fun.  He kept taking these little foam pieces, that we use for marking splices, from projection and sticking them down his pants.  It’d be funny to you if you saw.

About 2:00 a.m. we were done and headed back to Alice’s.  Will and Tim were there now, and also Matt, Claire’s husband.

Every year I build up New Year’s to be something so huge and then I get disappointed when it never lives up to anything.  Then again it could be a lot more if I let it.  I could go to parties if I wanted to.  I actually chose not to go.  I always prefer to stay with my buds and try to make it amazing.  It never is.  It’s like I always want New Year’s to be great, but only for other people.  I actually feel like I want to be depressed and alone.  Because that is how I feel now.

I feel sad, alone and scared about what lies ahead.

“I hurt so bad inside.  I wish you could see the world through my eyes.  It stays the same, I just wanna laugh again.”

- Korn, song: “Dirty”

[thetuesdayjournals-blog]

december 30th, 2001 - sunday

Spent most of this after noon typing in old journal entries.  I am now at the 30th of November.  And that was really about it.  My parents went to Topeka and brought home a digital camera, television and entertainment system from my granddad.  So my parents will put it in their room and I’ll take their small old television and get rid of my large console one.  That’ll free up some space in my room.

I stopped typing around 3:50 p.m. and just happened to check my Day-Minder schedule thing and saw that I worked at 4:00 p.m., not 6:00 p.m.  So I got ready, called work and said I was running late, and told my parents I was going in early.  So now I’m here and it’s a little after 5:00 p.m.  I’m scheduled until 11:00 p.m.  I don’t think the guys work tomorrow so hopefully they’ll be out tonight and want to do something.

From now on, or until I get tired of doing it or forget to do it, I’ll put the time before each entry or section.  That way if stuff happens throughout the day at different times, that passage of time will be noted.  So now then.

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5:12 p.m. I just called Kirk to see if he worked tomorrow and what his plans are for tonight.  He does work tomorrow and doesn’t know if he’ll be hanging out at Will’s.  Anyway, so Kirk tells me where he and Will were last night when I was looking for them.  Will apparently was out cruising last night and fish-tailed around a turn and lost control and hit a Yukon or something.  He freaked out and drove off.  He went over to Kirk’s and parks the T/A in the backyard and Kirk takes Will home because Will doesn’t want to do anything after that.  So this explains why I couldn’t find the T/A last night.  Jesus, Will!  Will doesn’t work tomorrow and Tim should be back in town so hopefully they’ll want to hang out late tonight.  Oh, and just to add Will WAS NOT repeat WAS NOT drunk and HAD NOT been drinking.  Although I’m sure when he got home he had a liquor store full of shit.***

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7:10 p.m. In the midst of the seven o’clock round of shows.  I wrote some poems earlier starting with, “Mason”,*** and then two more for my “Bourgeoisie” series, numbers V and VI.***  And also one called, “Prose Soldier.”***

“So, so you think you could tell Heaven from Hell?  Blue skies from pain?”

- Pink Floyd, song: “Wish You Were Here”

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1:40 a.m. Went down to Will’s after work and Derek, Tim and Will were there.  Derek told me that Dan S--- was coming over and bringing Aaralyn.  I was more saddened than happy.  Will took me aside for a moment and talked to me about what happened yesterday.  I could tell he was still a little shaken and was really affected by this.  It has opened his eyes a lot.

Aaralyn arrived and we barely spoke and we were almost trying to stay away from one another.  Hours passed and Derek and her were gonna leave, he was taking her home.  I asked if perhaps I could drive her so we could talk, she said, “No.”  I guess that's okay.  We so need to talk, I think we both have things to say and questions to ask.  I just hate feeling that she thinks badly of me, like I did something so wrong, or took advantage of her or something.

I set myself up huge to fall this time and it is hurting so much.  An amazingly perfect night in her arms has now been replaced by a heart full of pain.  I hate myself for allowing me to fall for her prematurely.  I just need to talk with her and not come off as obsessive.   I hurt because she is hurting me by not taking time to tell me what she is feeling.  I am hurting myself because I set all of this up in my mind way too big.  And I also hurt because I fear I did something to hurt her.  Will this ever be resolved to where we can carry on comfortably as friends?

“I used to be a little boy...”

- Smashing Pumpkins, song: “Disarm”