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
Monday, November 17, 2008
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
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