December 7, 2008
Dear friend,
I am fearful. My heart is starting to thaw out from its typical, frozen state of composure. I am starting to feel things for the first time in a long time, and it just needs to stop. I haven’t had to be worried or angry or excited in months, just icily callous to the world around me. I can’t pinpoint why this change has taken place, and some may say that it is for the better, but I am fearful.
It could be because I have had a few recent indiscretions with someone from my high school—someone so outrageous that the sheer thought is merely laughable. He is full of contradictions in every way, for while he makes out with girls one weekend, he makes out with me the next. Now, I find myself once again lowering my standards to accommodate the rest of the world, but the scandal involved is worth every bit of slain dignity. And I feel that this is what has stirred something within me. Not him, per say, but the fact the he begs to see me, for me to do things to him that would shock even you, and pouts when he does not get his way. I love being craved.
It could also be this book I just finished. A full enthusiast but less than avid participant in the literary world, I really loved the book The Perks of Being a Wallflower. It was completely teenage angst, which I didn’t like (maybe because that’s all I am these days), but it is so well written that I just could not put it down, which I surprisingly loved. I don’t know, but the author just really chimed into my psyche when he described the main characters love for his best friend. How he didn’t think his groping her during an on-stage performance counted as anything significant, because she was better than that, and that when he would grope her in private, it would be special. It took me back to those two times I fell in love with the one who broke my heart the worst. And to think I knew better.
The best line of the 213 pages is, “Incidentally, I only have one cavity, and as much as the dentist asks me to, I just can’t bring myself to floss.” It is so you, Chuck Bass; so me. It is great though, because he analyzes everything. Very stream-of-consciousness and existential. The author dives into things like first parties, abortions, crying mothers, suicide, gay sex, domestic abuse, and waiting rooms with a an unadulterated obliviousness, which really peeved me, since I have always found awkwardness to be a necessary hurdle to throw in a wood chipper. At least everything is explained in the end. Let’s just say that kid touching is not cute. I think I really learned from it all that I should just observe at times, and just take the world—hell, maybe things would become a little more tolerable that way. The end was a little over the top, but, great after it all.
Just call up your driver and get a copy. Hope things work out with you and Blair, by the way.
Kiss-Kiss,
Dante
Monday, December 8, 2008
Monday, November 17, 2008
Dear Friend
November 17, 2008
Dear friend,
It’s been a solemn week. Stern, and quite. Almost like after graduation when I stopped wanting to see all of my close friends. I don’t think I saw the point, since I would most likely never see them again. I grew out of it though, so I’m sure it will pass. It’s very strange when I get into these types of moods—not wanting anyone around, yet laying on my bed, wishing someone warm were next me.
If I choose to conjure up a thought or memory instead of sulk through the hours, I tend to think of an instance of intimacy. The sweet ones with great bodies and cute faces. The ones who can converse and penetrate eloquently. The past eleven months have certainly been nothing that could resemble a game of last virgin wins, and I find myself growing adverse to sex—by any manner, in any form. Too much, too quick, I suppose. I think, though, that the best are the ones who ask me back. The ones who want more. It is most comforting when we are alone to know that someone would like to be with us at that moment. I hope you are someone who asks them back for more. I don’t think I am.
And I don’t think I’m the type to bond with anyone out of willful force. People say they come together during tragedy, but I just don’t see myself being put in that position. While playing legal guardian a few months back for one of my closest and most personal, every day was spent with a small group of people. Did distress and anguish bring us together? I doubt it, since I liked them before he pulled the trigger. I guess it’s good for her that we get along; I don’t think I’d allow myself to be forced into interaction (at least not for more than a few hours or a couple hundred dollars, as I’ve so humbly become accustomed to).
Oh, and if you were wondering if I got anything for my birthday, I did. A bag of carbs. I know, that doesn’t make sense. My friends feel that I need carbohydrates in times of anger and temper and stress and confusion—to balance me. I don’t disagree with them, but I also don’t like being considered dependant. A giant gift bag filled with the following: multiple bags of potato chips, 2 loaves of bread, chocolate Skittles, Twizzlers, Milk Duds, various chocolates, Wheat Thins, 3 packages of cookies, and at least 25 more pounds of nothing productive for my waistline. I was happy to get it, for it truly was thoughtful. It’s like when someone hears something in passing, and then acts on it in the perfect instance. As great as going after them, or roses at the office after questionable third date sex. I also got checks and cash from family, as one can only expect. So as much as I hate that they aren’t steam, and don’t make me lose 5 pounds overnight, carbs are a true godsend, legitimately.
Kiss-Kiss,
Dante
Dear friend,
It’s been a solemn week. Stern, and quite. Almost like after graduation when I stopped wanting to see all of my close friends. I don’t think I saw the point, since I would most likely never see them again. I grew out of it though, so I’m sure it will pass. It’s very strange when I get into these types of moods—not wanting anyone around, yet laying on my bed, wishing someone warm were next me.
If I choose to conjure up a thought or memory instead of sulk through the hours, I tend to think of an instance of intimacy. The sweet ones with great bodies and cute faces. The ones who can converse and penetrate eloquently. The past eleven months have certainly been nothing that could resemble a game of last virgin wins, and I find myself growing adverse to sex—by any manner, in any form. Too much, too quick, I suppose. I think, though, that the best are the ones who ask me back. The ones who want more. It is most comforting when we are alone to know that someone would like to be with us at that moment. I hope you are someone who asks them back for more. I don’t think I am.
And I don’t think I’m the type to bond with anyone out of willful force. People say they come together during tragedy, but I just don’t see myself being put in that position. While playing legal guardian a few months back for one of my closest and most personal, every day was spent with a small group of people. Did distress and anguish bring us together? I doubt it, since I liked them before he pulled the trigger. I guess it’s good for her that we get along; I don’t think I’d allow myself to be forced into interaction (at least not for more than a few hours or a couple hundred dollars, as I’ve so humbly become accustomed to).
Oh, and if you were wondering if I got anything for my birthday, I did. A bag of carbs. I know, that doesn’t make sense. My friends feel that I need carbohydrates in times of anger and temper and stress and confusion—to balance me. I don’t disagree with them, but I also don’t like being considered dependant. A giant gift bag filled with the following: multiple bags of potato chips, 2 loaves of bread, chocolate Skittles, Twizzlers, Milk Duds, various chocolates, Wheat Thins, 3 packages of cookies, and at least 25 more pounds of nothing productive for my waistline. I was happy to get it, for it truly was thoughtful. It’s like when someone hears something in passing, and then acts on it in the perfect instance. As great as going after them, or roses at the office after questionable third date sex. I also got checks and cash from family, as one can only expect. So as much as I hate that they aren’t steam, and don’t make me lose 5 pounds overnight, carbs are a true godsend, legitimately.
Kiss-Kiss,
Dante
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Dear Friend
November 5, 2008
Dear friend,
My expectations, or rather my lack of expectations, have saved me once again. Yesterday was my birthday, and it can be considered nothing more than lack-luster. Don’t worry, I wasn’t expecting a gift.
I am really quite over everything at the moment, shockingly. The best part of my special day was checking my Facebook updates and watching for Anderson Cooper on CNN as our new President elect was announced. Is it wrong to be in love with someone from afar? Not breathing heavy behind them or anything, but simply to stay up until one thirty every morning and know that they will one day be happier with you in their life. I think you have, that pearled brunette warming your icy heart and making you a little more tolerable.
When do birthdays stop counting? Or when should we just stop caring that they suck? I am not surprised that I had nothing to look forward to, being 33 and clearly past my prime in many senses. I did not look forward to yesterday, for I had no plans, and the plans I did have for later in the week I am probably going to postpone for a month or two. Have you ever had a friend who was so damaged, so blatantly fucked up that you found yourself lowering your standards in an attempt to continue to stay close to them? I am feeling that now with one of my closest and most personal, and I find it a little disappointing. The drunk mess throws her life away and I have to postpone my excitement. Morton’s, Del Frisco’s, Oceanaire, Sullivan’s, Samba Room. No, her drunk ass on some couch with me unwilling to deal with it anymore. Unacceptable.
Walking through the leaves between the high trees of gold once again, new music graced my ears. These days, I am over everything and everyone. It is all so tired. Thinking back to the days when I would tell myself that if I ever got below a C on a report card I would be forced to slit my wrists, manic depression rolled off of my tongue. But hell, I thought, what do have to be sad about? I have a romantic interest with an amazing smile and a condo in Breckinridge, a 4.0 in my classes with no real worries about it falling any lower, and enough money hidden away in various places to make my parents yell out in questioning jealousy. And I don’t care about one bit of it. A glint of emotion finds its way inside, and then it get stabbed to death gruesomely in a matter that is unbecoming of a classy individual.
And yet a smile still gets spread across my face. I don’t know about you, but I am astonishing at creating playlists. A few of my real gifts of god include The Hotness, The Sexiness, Buji Mix Volumes I-III, Prom, Aspen, Low, and Smooth. Since I am not afraid of god, I have to consider him an equal, don’t I? The current grip of songs that makes everything a little better goes as follows:
Any Other World by MIKA
Human by The Killers
Nara by ES Posthumus
Running Up That Hill by Placebo
Right Now by Akon
San Francisco Dreaming by Benny Benassi & Global DJs
Now You’re Gone by Basshunter
Viva la Vida by Coldplay
Campione 2000 by E-Type
Boom Box by Hypercrush
Disturbia by Rihanna
Womanizer by Britney Spears
Late Night (Unstoppable Mix) by Three 6 Mafia
Shuv It (Disco D Blend) by Santogold
You’ll Find a Way by Santogold
Get It Up (Radioclit Mix) by Santogold ft. M.I.A.
Bamboo Banga by M.I.A.
Dancefloor by Stylophonic
Run – Hide by Trouble Andrew
Piece of Me by Britney Spears
Wolf Like Me by TV on the Radio
Blonde On Blonde by Nada Surf
Any Other World by MIKA
Transition Identifying is the name. From sadness and growth, to jollity and excitement and dancing, to sadness once again. Any Other World really just fits right now. Everything is dying and there is nothing to look forward to, but trumpets blast every time hope sneaks into my Guantanamo of a heart. It has begun that way, and will end that way, and then things will be back to its typical selfish bliss. I hope it’s the kind of thing you listen to when your father ignores your call, or you feel guilty about killing your mother, or wish you were less incredible. It is so lonely at the top.
Another thing that I have noticed is my relationship with my family. It is changing. From my concerted attempt to make as little of an impression, to an eased awkwardness. A noticeable improvement, I’d say. And I do not even know how it happened. Things just seem to change on me without my knowing. It was certainly eventual though, for I doubt it was teenage angst. My mother is just like me, but older and a woman. My sister has my wit, with a timid approach that I am sure she will shed soon. Miss J is nothing like me, but at times she hopes for more just like me. Miss L is nothing like me, but we are both tired of the ridiculous antics of Miss J. And my father just wants to find a way to regain some type of control. I just don’t know anymore. It is so lonely at the top.
Kiss-Kiss,
Dante
Dear friend,
My expectations, or rather my lack of expectations, have saved me once again. Yesterday was my birthday, and it can be considered nothing more than lack-luster. Don’t worry, I wasn’t expecting a gift.
I am really quite over everything at the moment, shockingly. The best part of my special day was checking my Facebook updates and watching for Anderson Cooper on CNN as our new President elect was announced. Is it wrong to be in love with someone from afar? Not breathing heavy behind them or anything, but simply to stay up until one thirty every morning and know that they will one day be happier with you in their life. I think you have, that pearled brunette warming your icy heart and making you a little more tolerable.
When do birthdays stop counting? Or when should we just stop caring that they suck? I am not surprised that I had nothing to look forward to, being 33 and clearly past my prime in many senses. I did not look forward to yesterday, for I had no plans, and the plans I did have for later in the week I am probably going to postpone for a month or two. Have you ever had a friend who was so damaged, so blatantly fucked up that you found yourself lowering your standards in an attempt to continue to stay close to them? I am feeling that now with one of my closest and most personal, and I find it a little disappointing. The drunk mess throws her life away and I have to postpone my excitement. Morton’s, Del Frisco’s, Oceanaire, Sullivan’s, Samba Room. No, her drunk ass on some couch with me unwilling to deal with it anymore. Unacceptable.
Walking through the leaves between the high trees of gold once again, new music graced my ears. These days, I am over everything and everyone. It is all so tired. Thinking back to the days when I would tell myself that if I ever got below a C on a report card I would be forced to slit my wrists, manic depression rolled off of my tongue. But hell, I thought, what do have to be sad about? I have a romantic interest with an amazing smile and a condo in Breckinridge, a 4.0 in my classes with no real worries about it falling any lower, and enough money hidden away in various places to make my parents yell out in questioning jealousy. And I don’t care about one bit of it. A glint of emotion finds its way inside, and then it get stabbed to death gruesomely in a matter that is unbecoming of a classy individual.
And yet a smile still gets spread across my face. I don’t know about you, but I am astonishing at creating playlists. A few of my real gifts of god include The Hotness, The Sexiness, Buji Mix Volumes I-III, Prom, Aspen, Low, and Smooth. Since I am not afraid of god, I have to consider him an equal, don’t I? The current grip of songs that makes everything a little better goes as follows:
Any Other World by MIKA
Human by The Killers
Nara by ES Posthumus
Running Up That Hill by Placebo
Right Now by Akon
San Francisco Dreaming by Benny Benassi & Global DJs
Now You’re Gone by Basshunter
Viva la Vida by Coldplay
Campione 2000 by E-Type
Boom Box by Hypercrush
Disturbia by Rihanna
Womanizer by Britney Spears
Late Night (Unstoppable Mix) by Three 6 Mafia
Shuv It (Disco D Blend) by Santogold
You’ll Find a Way by Santogold
Get It Up (Radioclit Mix) by Santogold ft. M.I.A.
Bamboo Banga by M.I.A.
Dancefloor by Stylophonic
Run – Hide by Trouble Andrew
Piece of Me by Britney Spears
Wolf Like Me by TV on the Radio
Blonde On Blonde by Nada Surf
Any Other World by MIKA
Transition Identifying is the name. From sadness and growth, to jollity and excitement and dancing, to sadness once again. Any Other World really just fits right now. Everything is dying and there is nothing to look forward to, but trumpets blast every time hope sneaks into my Guantanamo of a heart. It has begun that way, and will end that way, and then things will be back to its typical selfish bliss. I hope it’s the kind of thing you listen to when your father ignores your call, or you feel guilty about killing your mother, or wish you were less incredible. It is so lonely at the top.
Another thing that I have noticed is my relationship with my family. It is changing. From my concerted attempt to make as little of an impression, to an eased awkwardness. A noticeable improvement, I’d say. And I do not even know how it happened. Things just seem to change on me without my knowing. It was certainly eventual though, for I doubt it was teenage angst. My mother is just like me, but older and a woman. My sister has my wit, with a timid approach that I am sure she will shed soon. Miss J is nothing like me, but at times she hopes for more just like me. Miss L is nothing like me, but we are both tired of the ridiculous antics of Miss J. And my father just wants to find a way to regain some type of control. I just don’t know anymore. It is so lonely at the top.
Kiss-Kiss,
Dante
Monday, October 27, 2008
Dear Friend
October 27, 2008
Dear friend,
Have you ever taken a walk, and just heard the music that would fit perfectly whistling by? As if the scene before you is in a movie and it alone would win the Oscars for both best score and best cinematography. It is beautiful how I can do that. The other night, I was alone, not willing to invest myself in finding someone to do something with for the night, when I noticed the blaze of the trees across from my house. Dashes of crimson amongst a sea of gold-- not just your grandmother’s locket gold, or a measly gold bar gold, but Helen of Troy style, Gloria Vanderbilt gold. The kind of beautiful that makes you stop. And notice.
The leaves rustled forty feet into the air, as I left my footprints on the shade-stricken dirt path that was sandy at parts. I knew where I was going, but I compelled myself to feel fresh amongst the terrain to make it feel like an adventure. The same way one craves truffle butter or peppercorn sauce—you know what to expect, but telling yourself not to just makes it all the more entertaining. The shade felt good, the way bundling up while watching snow fall feels good. I found “Pirates” by Francois-Paul Aiche on my iPod, and I went with it. “Let’s Get Physical” by Goldfrapp, “Little Bit” by Lykke Li, and then “Blonde on Blonde” by Nada Surf. I avoided that one, because normally it makes me sad, and nostalgic for my first heartbreak, and think how much I love the movie Summer Storm. It wasn’t that bad, though.
All these songs just fit perfectly, the leaves dancing to the beat as I walked by and the sun crept away.
I got home that evening after my walk, and turned on CNN, being the respectable and classy individual that I am. Now although Anderson Cooper did a wonderful job of distracting me for a moment—legitimately being the love of my life—I could not help but wonder why people don’t think like me. Seriously. I feel that I typically make far more logical decisions than those around me, those whom in most regards have years of experience on me. I mean, the ignorance of people is just appalling. Let’s spend our AIG bailout money on an executive getaway with $23,000 in massages. Let’s carve backwards “Bs” in our faces and say we got attacked by Obama supporters. Let’s get pumped up about a new Dodge Super Duty that gets 14 miles per gallon. Dumb! Literally: Dumb! I don’t know why breaking bottles over peoples heads is so frowned upon.
I do hope that I am not rambling, but honestly, I just don’t understand the thought process. People tell me that I am mature for my age, wise beyond my years, and all I respond with is an “I know.” Over the past few months, I have been contemplating my true age. 8 days stand between me and my nineteenth birthday, but I am able to gallivant around town with people twice my age. And no, these aren’t the vagrants and sad excuses you see showing up to high school parties with their kids at home. They are grown adults. Now, what puzzles me is how this transition took place in a matter of months. I have been to more than most of the “cool” places in this city, and around this city, and outside of this city. I have done it, seen it, lived it, and laughed in its face. People talk about “glory days,” and I grow fearful. If I have seen all there is, and I am unimpressed by what I have seen, then what hope is there? I look down the wall-length bench and see 37 year olds sipping Cosmos, and take a shot myself. I am worried that these are my days of glory, but I am terrified that they have already passed. I then ask myself if have missed out, and try not to think about it.
Do you ever feel like this? I really hope so, for I feel that this separates us from the world. I am a narcissist, I’m sure, and a manic depressive to boot, but I legitimately feel that I am not wrong in most instances. I am a logical person, someone who is able to understand that sometimes things are bigger than me. Someone who alienates those who deserve it for being something less than their potential allows. Someone who knows he is better than most, because he can be.
32. That’s how old I am, by maturity. You may doubt me, but sit down to a conversation, or take me home at the end of the night, and you won’t be a skeptic. My favorite compliment is, “You are way too young to be so good at this.” Outrageous, right?
And another dumb statement that keeps appearing before me: “I can’t believe it is so cold outside.” Really? You are really unable to believe how cold it is outside? October, in Colorado, leaves falling to and fro, and you are so surprised it is a little chilly? I can only shake my head and purse my lips. But yes, it is getting colder outside. I am now parking my car in my garage to avoid scraping my windshield. That’s a tedious task, no? For Halloween I have no plans at the moment, Thanksgiving will be probably be spent eating with a thick air of an awkward silence, since I haven’t eaten dinner with my family in more than 4 months. Don’t ask me why, because I really don’t have a good answer. And I asked my mom what our plans are for Christmas, and they do not include an 18 hour drive back to Wisconsin. I am surprised, for we have gone back for one holiday every year since we moved 13 years ago.
I will miss the after dinner conversation most, and seeing my cousins. It’s always about the cousins. Except now that we don’t play store, or make snow angels, or run around in the basement, I can certainly foresee it being quite pointless. And I am getting no presents because the family cut-off age is 18, so it’s definitely pointless. I love my family dearly, but I think for the first time ever, I can stand not to see them this holiday season. And that scares me too, for I would always be so excited about lining the presents along my grandma’s fireplace. I remember one year my cousins and sister and I got little bags of glitter that were labeled reindeer food. A man impersonating Mr. Claus gave them to us, at an age in which I was starting to catch on to the elaborate charade. He scampered out the back, and being the little curious kids we were, we followed right after him. This still shocks me to this day, so, be forewarned; I don’t know how this happened, and to this day no one will talk about it. But here goes. We went outside, to the part of the backyard with a large plot of snow-covered porch. The man in red had left, but I noticed that there were hoof prints on the ground. Hoof prints, in formation, with sleigh tracks that perfectly lay directly behind. Not a shoe print in sight.
A true Christmas miracle, at least for that year. A sign of false hope that, for the sake of me not being a hypocrite, was dumb to believe. But a happy holiday it was, so thank you Saint Nick.
Kiss-Kiss,
Dante
Dear friend,
Have you ever taken a walk, and just heard the music that would fit perfectly whistling by? As if the scene before you is in a movie and it alone would win the Oscars for both best score and best cinematography. It is beautiful how I can do that. The other night, I was alone, not willing to invest myself in finding someone to do something with for the night, when I noticed the blaze of the trees across from my house. Dashes of crimson amongst a sea of gold-- not just your grandmother’s locket gold, or a measly gold bar gold, but Helen of Troy style, Gloria Vanderbilt gold. The kind of beautiful that makes you stop. And notice.
The leaves rustled forty feet into the air, as I left my footprints on the shade-stricken dirt path that was sandy at parts. I knew where I was going, but I compelled myself to feel fresh amongst the terrain to make it feel like an adventure. The same way one craves truffle butter or peppercorn sauce—you know what to expect, but telling yourself not to just makes it all the more entertaining. The shade felt good, the way bundling up while watching snow fall feels good. I found “Pirates” by Francois-Paul Aiche on my iPod, and I went with it. “Let’s Get Physical” by Goldfrapp, “Little Bit” by Lykke Li, and then “Blonde on Blonde” by Nada Surf. I avoided that one, because normally it makes me sad, and nostalgic for my first heartbreak, and think how much I love the movie Summer Storm. It wasn’t that bad, though.
All these songs just fit perfectly, the leaves dancing to the beat as I walked by and the sun crept away.
I got home that evening after my walk, and turned on CNN, being the respectable and classy individual that I am. Now although Anderson Cooper did a wonderful job of distracting me for a moment—legitimately being the love of my life—I could not help but wonder why people don’t think like me. Seriously. I feel that I typically make far more logical decisions than those around me, those whom in most regards have years of experience on me. I mean, the ignorance of people is just appalling. Let’s spend our AIG bailout money on an executive getaway with $23,000 in massages. Let’s carve backwards “Bs” in our faces and say we got attacked by Obama supporters. Let’s get pumped up about a new Dodge Super Duty that gets 14 miles per gallon. Dumb! Literally: Dumb! I don’t know why breaking bottles over peoples heads is so frowned upon.
I do hope that I am not rambling, but honestly, I just don’t understand the thought process. People tell me that I am mature for my age, wise beyond my years, and all I respond with is an “I know.” Over the past few months, I have been contemplating my true age. 8 days stand between me and my nineteenth birthday, but I am able to gallivant around town with people twice my age. And no, these aren’t the vagrants and sad excuses you see showing up to high school parties with their kids at home. They are grown adults. Now, what puzzles me is how this transition took place in a matter of months. I have been to more than most of the “cool” places in this city, and around this city, and outside of this city. I have done it, seen it, lived it, and laughed in its face. People talk about “glory days,” and I grow fearful. If I have seen all there is, and I am unimpressed by what I have seen, then what hope is there? I look down the wall-length bench and see 37 year olds sipping Cosmos, and take a shot myself. I am worried that these are my days of glory, but I am terrified that they have already passed. I then ask myself if have missed out, and try not to think about it.
Do you ever feel like this? I really hope so, for I feel that this separates us from the world. I am a narcissist, I’m sure, and a manic depressive to boot, but I legitimately feel that I am not wrong in most instances. I am a logical person, someone who is able to understand that sometimes things are bigger than me. Someone who alienates those who deserve it for being something less than their potential allows. Someone who knows he is better than most, because he can be.
32. That’s how old I am, by maturity. You may doubt me, but sit down to a conversation, or take me home at the end of the night, and you won’t be a skeptic. My favorite compliment is, “You are way too young to be so good at this.” Outrageous, right?
And another dumb statement that keeps appearing before me: “I can’t believe it is so cold outside.” Really? You are really unable to believe how cold it is outside? October, in Colorado, leaves falling to and fro, and you are so surprised it is a little chilly? I can only shake my head and purse my lips. But yes, it is getting colder outside. I am now parking my car in my garage to avoid scraping my windshield. That’s a tedious task, no? For Halloween I have no plans at the moment, Thanksgiving will be probably be spent eating with a thick air of an awkward silence, since I haven’t eaten dinner with my family in more than 4 months. Don’t ask me why, because I really don’t have a good answer. And I asked my mom what our plans are for Christmas, and they do not include an 18 hour drive back to Wisconsin. I am surprised, for we have gone back for one holiday every year since we moved 13 years ago.
I will miss the after dinner conversation most, and seeing my cousins. It’s always about the cousins. Except now that we don’t play store, or make snow angels, or run around in the basement, I can certainly foresee it being quite pointless. And I am getting no presents because the family cut-off age is 18, so it’s definitely pointless. I love my family dearly, but I think for the first time ever, I can stand not to see them this holiday season. And that scares me too, for I would always be so excited about lining the presents along my grandma’s fireplace. I remember one year my cousins and sister and I got little bags of glitter that were labeled reindeer food. A man impersonating Mr. Claus gave them to us, at an age in which I was starting to catch on to the elaborate charade. He scampered out the back, and being the little curious kids we were, we followed right after him. This still shocks me to this day, so, be forewarned; I don’t know how this happened, and to this day no one will talk about it. But here goes. We went outside, to the part of the backyard with a large plot of snow-covered porch. The man in red had left, but I noticed that there were hoof prints on the ground. Hoof prints, in formation, with sleigh tracks that perfectly lay directly behind. Not a shoe print in sight.
A true Christmas miracle, at least for that year. A sign of false hope that, for the sake of me not being a hypocrite, was dumb to believe. But a happy holiday it was, so thank you Saint Nick.
Kiss-Kiss,
Dante
Monday, October 6, 2008
Dear Friend
October 5, 2008
Dear friend,
I have often times felt like a burden. Not an uncommon feeling, by far, but certainly unwarranted at times; amongst my family, primarily, though with the tendency to arise in mixed company. There is really no apparent reason, for truly my life has been one to be envied. No disputes, no issues, nothing outside of the high standards of Mr. Rogers’ neighborhood. My father, the hard worker and honorable, who misses my birthday every year, no matter what. My sister, the athlete I would never be, who I’m sure will suffer as I have beneath the expectations of my parents. My mother, the enlightened, is clearly me with time to let my essence settle.
One never wants to impose if they are pure in intention. Some day, years ago, while getting a bottle of water out of my fridge, I scanned the family calendar held up by a grip of rick-rack magnets. Tae Kwon Do, Dr. Zemel, Radiation, Softball Practice—I know, right? Approaching the subject lightly, I asked, “Mom, isn’t radiation for treating cancer?” She responded equally as lightly with a “Yes, it is.” I am sure a stunned look on my face conveyed my confusion, but, something was dying to be said. “So, do you have cancer?”-- Clearly ridiculous. She carried on, conveying that she would have told my sister and me eventually, and that this was not something to worry over. And it wasn’t. She did not make it a big deal to any extent, and even now, it seems to have hardly an effect. I have the tendency to down-play all of my accomplishments, my blunders and my endeavors. Complaining is just unsightly, and to burden someone with caring about me is simply unacceptable.
In the presence of my closest and most personal friends, however, I am far from a weight on anyone’s shoulders. Legitimately, through years of interaction with people with decades behind them, I have come to discover that I have the emotional maturity of a 32 year old. An attitude has been adapted on my behalf, one of stunning persistence. For the celebration of my eighteenth birthday, a timely three months late, we all went out for a night of debauchery I would never forget. On my way, in the back seat, excitedly nervous with an overwhelming air of confidence looming low, I understood something that I knew most never would—I have the ability to move myself into a state of infinite power. When I walk through a door, unconcerned with the opinions or authority of those inside, I am infinite. To show up where I want, looking however I want, and make it clear that I belong. Infinity is taking your sixth shot, having two strippers be interested in you for more than moist dollar bills, while being rightfully considered barely legal—and walking away, careless. To act like one doesn’t care is a test of will, but to actually not care is the tell of superiority.
I do hope you feel my regret for having to tell you all of this, for I am sure you are busy with better things than my well-being, but really, you can spare a moment or two. But do you see now why I have such problems with dating?
Kiss-Kiss,
Dante
Dear friend,
I have often times felt like a burden. Not an uncommon feeling, by far, but certainly unwarranted at times; amongst my family, primarily, though with the tendency to arise in mixed company. There is really no apparent reason, for truly my life has been one to be envied. No disputes, no issues, nothing outside of the high standards of Mr. Rogers’ neighborhood. My father, the hard worker and honorable, who misses my birthday every year, no matter what. My sister, the athlete I would never be, who I’m sure will suffer as I have beneath the expectations of my parents. My mother, the enlightened, is clearly me with time to let my essence settle.
One never wants to impose if they are pure in intention. Some day, years ago, while getting a bottle of water out of my fridge, I scanned the family calendar held up by a grip of rick-rack magnets. Tae Kwon Do, Dr. Zemel, Radiation, Softball Practice—I know, right? Approaching the subject lightly, I asked, “Mom, isn’t radiation for treating cancer?” She responded equally as lightly with a “Yes, it is.” I am sure a stunned look on my face conveyed my confusion, but, something was dying to be said. “So, do you have cancer?”-- Clearly ridiculous. She carried on, conveying that she would have told my sister and me eventually, and that this was not something to worry over. And it wasn’t. She did not make it a big deal to any extent, and even now, it seems to have hardly an effect. I have the tendency to down-play all of my accomplishments, my blunders and my endeavors. Complaining is just unsightly, and to burden someone with caring about me is simply unacceptable.
In the presence of my closest and most personal friends, however, I am far from a weight on anyone’s shoulders. Legitimately, through years of interaction with people with decades behind them, I have come to discover that I have the emotional maturity of a 32 year old. An attitude has been adapted on my behalf, one of stunning persistence. For the celebration of my eighteenth birthday, a timely three months late, we all went out for a night of debauchery I would never forget. On my way, in the back seat, excitedly nervous with an overwhelming air of confidence looming low, I understood something that I knew most never would—I have the ability to move myself into a state of infinite power. When I walk through a door, unconcerned with the opinions or authority of those inside, I am infinite. To show up where I want, looking however I want, and make it clear that I belong. Infinity is taking your sixth shot, having two strippers be interested in you for more than moist dollar bills, while being rightfully considered barely legal—and walking away, careless. To act like one doesn’t care is a test of will, but to actually not care is the tell of superiority.
I do hope you feel my regret for having to tell you all of this, for I am sure you are busy with better things than my well-being, but really, you can spare a moment or two. But do you see now why I have such problems with dating?
Kiss-Kiss,
Dante
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Dear Friend
September 17, 2008
Dear friend,
I am writing to you because you are the only one as rational as I am. Oh, go ahead and try to figure out who this is, because you would not believe me even if I told you myself. It actually should not be that difficult, in all reality. Honest.
Most of the names of people won’t be changed, because they are people you will most likely never meet, and most likely will never want to. It has certainly been hard, having to tolerate the agendas and intentions of the bleak and common, those who crave nothing more than what is in front of them. I just need to know that you want something more. Something bigger, brighter, more—stunning. I just need to know that I’m not the only one.
I think you of all people would understand that because of what you have accomplished, and what you have left in your shadow. At least I hope so, because my intention is greatness, and I would certainly hate for you to miss out on such a promising friendship. Or so I would assume.
So, this is my life. And I want you to know that while I consider myself to be amazing, I hate everything that I am, and I am working very hard to figure that out.
Recently, a very close friend of mine’s boyfriend committed suicide. A four year relationship, torrid, if anything else, that ended with a bang—literally. I could never figure out why it didn’t crumble, though. A domestic dispute two years in, that resulted in thousands of dollars in legal fees and aggravation. Constant fighting that only led to intimate encounters of peace. A drug addiction that left two cars totaled, the gas-light of trust issues beaming like a police siren, and a $40,000 promise for happiness shot-up and snorted away in a mere months time. Love is love, but I never saw it being worth the pain.
I got the call as I was with another close friend, one of the few I kept after various graduation parties. Now, that is an issue I will gloss over for now, but will certainly address soon. Get excited. We were just about to leave her house, when a simple, “Thomas is dead,” changed my plans. “What?” “Yea, he’s dead. He killed himself.” I was not surprised, because he was going to be going to jail in about a month for a parole violation, but the timing was a shock, for things seemed to be getting better.
I hung up the phone, told my friend some ridiculous lie of when to expect me back so as not to blatantly inconvenience her as she had always inconvenienced me, and rushed to a sad scene. I had nothing to say. I don’t comfort well, because I have never expected anyone to comfort me.
The month that followed is now a streak of alcohol, carbohydrates, and feigned sensitivity. While I am quite lucrative—again, glossing for now—it became a bit of a struggle to keep up with the distractions that occupied us. I became a monitor, someone appointed by choice but welcomed by acquaintances to listen to her feelings, wipe her tears, and drive her from one drunken stupor to another. And to think, they all called me a friend.
Lunch out every afternoon, dinner out every night. Days filled with shopping, drinking, smoking, and friends. All I can say is that I am glad I have serious powers of self control, because the thousands I spent were plenty. And for the record: drugs are not my forte. Plain and simple, nothing that inhibits my complete control of a situation. Sure, a pill here and there that may not have my name on it, but I certainly have the receipts. Now, I look back, and there are tears. Only tears. Yet I still can’t bring myself to care.
When I was told he was dead, the only thing that came to mind was relief. He was holding my friend back from her life, and this was her opportunity to move on. I truthfully was not sad at all but merely disappointed that it had to end as it did. Death is no way to deal with a problem. Sure, nothing particularly astounding has come of her liberation, but I guess I just believe in people. Well, no. I don’t believe in people. Not at all, actually. I just hope that people are as strong as I am.
Kiss-Kiss,
Dante
Dear friend,
I am writing to you because you are the only one as rational as I am. Oh, go ahead and try to figure out who this is, because you would not believe me even if I told you myself. It actually should not be that difficult, in all reality. Honest.
Most of the names of people won’t be changed, because they are people you will most likely never meet, and most likely will never want to. It has certainly been hard, having to tolerate the agendas and intentions of the bleak and common, those who crave nothing more than what is in front of them. I just need to know that you want something more. Something bigger, brighter, more—stunning. I just need to know that I’m not the only one.
I think you of all people would understand that because of what you have accomplished, and what you have left in your shadow. At least I hope so, because my intention is greatness, and I would certainly hate for you to miss out on such a promising friendship. Or so I would assume.
So, this is my life. And I want you to know that while I consider myself to be amazing, I hate everything that I am, and I am working very hard to figure that out.
Recently, a very close friend of mine’s boyfriend committed suicide. A four year relationship, torrid, if anything else, that ended with a bang—literally. I could never figure out why it didn’t crumble, though. A domestic dispute two years in, that resulted in thousands of dollars in legal fees and aggravation. Constant fighting that only led to intimate encounters of peace. A drug addiction that left two cars totaled, the gas-light of trust issues beaming like a police siren, and a $40,000 promise for happiness shot-up and snorted away in a mere months time. Love is love, but I never saw it being worth the pain.
I got the call as I was with another close friend, one of the few I kept after various graduation parties. Now, that is an issue I will gloss over for now, but will certainly address soon. Get excited. We were just about to leave her house, when a simple, “Thomas is dead,” changed my plans. “What?” “Yea, he’s dead. He killed himself.” I was not surprised, because he was going to be going to jail in about a month for a parole violation, but the timing was a shock, for things seemed to be getting better.
I hung up the phone, told my friend some ridiculous lie of when to expect me back so as not to blatantly inconvenience her as she had always inconvenienced me, and rushed to a sad scene. I had nothing to say. I don’t comfort well, because I have never expected anyone to comfort me.
The month that followed is now a streak of alcohol, carbohydrates, and feigned sensitivity. While I am quite lucrative—again, glossing for now—it became a bit of a struggle to keep up with the distractions that occupied us. I became a monitor, someone appointed by choice but welcomed by acquaintances to listen to her feelings, wipe her tears, and drive her from one drunken stupor to another. And to think, they all called me a friend.
Lunch out every afternoon, dinner out every night. Days filled with shopping, drinking, smoking, and friends. All I can say is that I am glad I have serious powers of self control, because the thousands I spent were plenty. And for the record: drugs are not my forte. Plain and simple, nothing that inhibits my complete control of a situation. Sure, a pill here and there that may not have my name on it, but I certainly have the receipts. Now, I look back, and there are tears. Only tears. Yet I still can’t bring myself to care.
When I was told he was dead, the only thing that came to mind was relief. He was holding my friend back from her life, and this was her opportunity to move on. I truthfully was not sad at all but merely disappointed that it had to end as it did. Death is no way to deal with a problem. Sure, nothing particularly astounding has come of her liberation, but I guess I just believe in people. Well, no. I don’t believe in people. Not at all, actually. I just hope that people are as strong as I am.
Kiss-Kiss,
Dante
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