It’s been over twenty-four hours. My throat hurts. My head is pounding. It’s about half an hour till nine in the morning. I’m nauseous. Still a little drunk. I don’t feel wiser or smarter or stronger. I’m more lost than I’ve ever been and feel more dumb and sad than I thought I ever could. I feel like a child. I miss my mother. I’d do anything to kiss her and have her kiss me back right now. Rest in peace.
Things people forget; New York City is the capital of the fuckin’ world and manhattan is an island. The capital of the world is made up of 14 miles on land surrounded by water. It’s been five days since Sandy paid us a visit and we can’t get our shit together. Gas stations have longer and more dysfunctional lines than a post office. You’re not allowed more than two gallons of gas like a child isn’t allowed more than one cookie for dessert. I have one question, “When the fuck did the zombie land apocalypse happened and how drunk was I that I didn’t realize it?”
Conformity. The lack of individuality. The necessity of code changing in the work place. Growing up in this day and age; educators, authoritative figures, family members, guardians they all say the same thing, “Be yourself. Never be someone else for the sake of another person.” Then we grow up, and are told things like, “Hide your sexuality. Don’t disrespect your body and modify it with tattoos or piercings or fuckin’ hair dye. Nature is always right. Nature thought everything through for you. You’re perfect as you are.” What if I want it? How the fuck am I affecting you? What if I don’t feel perfect? But I feel closer to perfection with these modifications.
Well, fuck you. To anyone and everyone that says, “It’s time to grow up.” Don’t tell me I shouldn’t do something to feel comfortable, just so YOU feel comfortable. To anyone that’s ever second guessed themselves because of another individual, just remember that those people judging you are just as scared you’re judging them back.
Fuck. I love Spiderman. I’ve been a huge a of Spiderman as a kid. He’s definitely not the coolest superhero though, if I could be any superhero, I’d be Winnie the Pooh. Hands down. Best superhero ever. Fuck you if you disagree. If you’re wondering what my super powers would be you’re a fuckin’ idiot. They would be eating honey out of a jar and being picked up and hugged and carried to every location I wanted to get too. My costume would include wearing a luster lacking old red t-shirt that is so form fitting it would look like it was painted on and my nipples could cut glass with this torso condom that is choking me out. It would reek of Marlboro Lights and have accidental cigarette holes in random unrealistic spots. Topped off with perfect splatters of Russian vodka and German beer stains. And no, I wouldn’t be wearing pants. I keep shit classical, not classy.
But I’m straying off topic, the last two weeks I’ve been dying to go see the new Spiderman movie. Just for the sake of seeing what they could possibly do with a movie that has been redone more times than Sasha Grey in the last four years. When I first heard about the new Spiderman movie I was hoping Toby McGuire would be in it. I was used to his port-authority-bus-terminal-bathroom-glory-hole-acting abilities. When I heard he wasn’t gonna play in the new movie I was thoroughly upset. But then I realized his career ended with Seabiscuit. I guess the casting director understood that if you’re gonna go from me being Spiderman to a movie with a horse and not let Heath Ledger fuck you in the ass, you’re really not man enough to play a teenage boy that skips his bar mitzvah and gets bit by an insect to become a man.
Plus my boy Toby not getting the job meant only one thing to me —time to let a child actor get another chance at stardom… Yet again. No, I’m not talking about Gary Coleman, he’s so small, black, shriveled and dead he resembles my liver. I’m taking about good ol’ McCauly Caulkin. I mean, if there is anyone who could play a character that plays alongside a whore who loves him enough to spend time with him and fuck everyone else but him, it’s Caulkin.
Then I found out Hollywood is actually going to outsource for Spiderman, just like we do with everything else in America. But it’s not George Lopez playing Spiderman. Noooo, of course not. Mexico is too close of a location to outsource actors for major blockbusters. “Fuck it. Let’s get some Brit to play Spiderman. For every 10 Americans in hollywood trying to spew a British accent, we have 35,000 Brits making an American accent in hollywood. Let’s go one step further, well get the guy to be Welsh. The population is close to 47 people, let’s make at least one of them famous.”
Peter Jackson, director of Lord of the Rings made New Zealand famous by taking the entire nation an casting them as lovable Orcs. He tried to pick up his entire nation by casting all of New Zealand. Meanwhile, back in America, we’ve got some unknown fuck directing a movie about an American superhero by casting some redfaced Brit that has teeth that could cut keys.
In all honesty, I know I may seem a little crude and I do get why a brit got casted. It makes perfect sense. When a superhero movie has been redone as many times as The Hulk itself still fails. It’a time to bring in the big guns, I used the term very loosely and absofuckinglutely metaphorically. We all know Brits are hung like a light-switch. But us Americans, love us some proper accents. Nothing more beautiful than the Queen’s English, except for her daughter spread eagle. For fuck’s sake it’s a BLOCKBUSTER MOVIE that came out in JULY! There was no reason to have the opening night be on a Wednesday unless you had as much faith in it’s success as I would with giving aids back to the monkeys.
I do really want to go see it though. If not for anything other than Emma Stone. Wow. She is beautiful. I’ve had a crush on her since she was twelve years old on that hit tv show that went no where, Lucky Louie. Man, now that was a mint show. Emma Stone’s acting resume though is like a Cosco receipt, continuously never-ending and cheap as fuck individually, but put it together it’ll worth a pretty penny. Even though when you get home you realize it’s all a bunch of unnecessarily produced garbage.
All-in-all, when I really think about it there is no fuckin’ reason to go see this movie. Unless you have a sentimental attachment or need large, empty, dimly lit room with background noise to fuck your girlfriend and can’t afford a hotel to cheat on your wife in. So you can bet I’m going to go see it.
Just turn around and go back. Fuck. I don’t even know where back is exactly. One of these days I will stay. It’ll be more than just bleached sheets in a studio sized hotel room and a mounted tv on a tabletop wallpaper decorated box, no larger than the figurative freedom prison cell, that is our secret home.
It’ll be more than weekends of take out and fine dining and bar hopping. It’ll be more than the happy hour that feels like its much less than the mere seventy-two hour increments of sex specials and loving appetizers. The bite size soap bar orgasms and shampoo sample sized cutout interactions will grow up and become super-sized life decisions of bliss.
You and I are vultures, who are ready to devour one another with the love between us. Only to use our love to build each other back up. One day we will be more than big hearts and small minded children filled with ambitions of lacking ambiguity. For now candy shop amazed etiquette will have to be what we deal with.
But maybe one day we’ll grow up… Maybe not.
This whole nine to five thing is draining. I don’t know how people do it. I’m only a week in and I feel like half of anything worth even partially living for has stopped existing in me. I’m always exhausted. I have no actual time to do anything, and energy to truly want to do something anyways.
The moon is up again and I’m wide awake. Much to my chagrin, my mind isn’t inviting me to indulge in a much needed slumber. It’s amble and relentless to cave in tonight. So I’m laying awake staring at the darkness that consumes my room and have the myriad of self-destined failures yell at me inside my own body. I know it’s only a transient nature that only time can dismiss but I can’t fuckin’ take it.
A few minutes ago I masturbated all over my stomach, so I don’t know if I’m taking a (4:00 am late night) Sanitation Work Shop or Women’s Studies. But either way for a brief moment I felt relieved and constructive to be back in the threshold of a pseudo educational structure. Fuck I miss being in school. I assumed by now I’d be on route getting a Masters. Instead I’m just masturbating, and the world is getting the best of me.
I start my mornings with a large cup of coffee, five sugars and milk. I pick it up from a local Dunkin’ Donuts a few blocks from where I reside every morning, when I happen to get an invitation to go into work. Not because ‘I run on Dunkin’, but because I like the extra-medium serving size of the all white styrofoam cup they put it in. It makes me feel like I’m Lil Wayne drinking syrup. I’ll light a cigarette and on my way to the bus stop I’ll listen to his songs and just for a moment, I feel like I’m listening to myself, albeit a fun house mirror nigga on acid version of myself. It’s great. Then I realize I’m broke, depressed and not even in the very least famous.
Sometimes I get jealous of kids that get abducted. I mean, they get to go out on a high note. At the age of no expectations. It’s not fair, I mean, I had a really great childhood, and have amazing and dedicated parents. So I can’t blame it on a shitty upbringing or lack of happiness growing up. And now I’m just a failure.