what i won't say - is there a hole for me to get sick in?

somehow i'm back in portland, bob dylan breaking my ears from giant speakers, 9-something in the morning, windows open, vault in my mouth. a lifetime has elapsed since i last sat here, and it's hard to pretend like i belong here. anywhere, i guess. first turned my back on tolman three weeks ago, deciding to smoke as many cigarettes as i possibly can, wear the same clothes forever, live on caffeine and the occasional bagel. fuck everyone, spit up all over their normal lives and their new england cars and everything they stand for (read: my mom's dissatisfaction). spent ten days trying to keep a straight face around the kids, gradually building up a head of steam about the dissolution of my upcoming marriage. left new england and backseats and vegetables for new fucking jersey and the boys of my memories. sucked down even more soda and cigarettes, opened up the stream of obscenities and wife-beaters. wal-mart, muddy rides on bum bikes, rolling around in the filth, tearing down princeton with our disdain for their fucking look. new brunswick, trenton, philadelphia, boston, new york city. taking our trainwreck down all the blueblood lines. $8.50 cigarettes in nyc, no alcohol in philly, beautiful despair in trenton. flipped over the handlebars in princeton, woke me the fuck up. nothing like some bruises to keep you going. sat through some rad movies, listened to mandy moore like it was good, made myself stumble around for future reference. broke shit, stole shit, tried to make our presence known. the rules don't apply when you're traveling, or something. you can drink yourself retarded at harvard, smoke while you steal, ignore the threat of real life lying in wait back on the west coast. pretend to read henry miller, talk on the phone like everything's fine. toss the empty wine bottle in the airport garbage can, smoke until they let you check in, make weak vows to not live like this forever. sleep as much as you can up in the air, swallow back the vomit, get on the beautiful orange bike in portland and glide home. hit the sack, stay down for 30 hours or so, get up and tease youself with whatever you can find unfrozen in the freezer. more weak vows, back to bed. up again, hit the caffeine, crank the bob, write it down for the family. if i still believed in food, this might be longer.


to be explicit: the girl i didn't really know wrote me off entirely, which is fine. las vegas is for my sister, not loveline half-wits. i'm going there tomorrow for another week away from this 'home' of mine. i drank alcohol on the east coast, which was probably a bad idea as i can FEEL myself slipping away. i need to stick to soda and cigarettes and fasting. i don't need anything else making it hard to walk. if i want to slow down this endless stream of second-guessing and thinkthinkthink i'll just turn up the music. that's much easier and doesn't taste as bad. but i'm so WEAK.

whatever. i need to turn over some new leaves, etc. get a real job, put some air in my tires, stop coasting. fix myself.

ok then.