You live strange lives

Nemesis

So, I pull up to pick up Nigel and two of his friends, and I see four people approach the car. One person is obviously in his thirties and drunk. I can tell it's going to go well.

As soon as I pull up he starts ranting about how we're going downtown and how he's going to get us all high. I tell him I'm straightedge and that doesn't really appeal to me. I make a general announcement that there are about a thousand reasons that's not happening and that sixteen are right here, as I put a handgun on my belt and get out of the car. The guy starts telling me that our two options are to let him into my car or he's going to fight all of us and we're all going to go to jail.

I told him that's stupid because no one wants to go to jail but I'm not going fifteen minutes in the opposite direction to drop him off. He starts getting close to nigel and threatens to hit him. I start moving nigel's friends out of the way so I have a clear line of fire. The guy then tells us if we give him five dollars each he'll leave us alone. Nigel's friends walk off and I get Nigel in the front seat. I try to gracefully infourm the man that I won't be taking him, and he tells me he's going to break every window in my car. He then takes several menacing steps towords me and says something about "beating the shit out of you queers."

That was a mistake.

I hit him in the face with a combination of pepper spray and CS teargas. As he stumbled backwards, I came up and kicked him in the ass and then the face. "RUN MOTHERFUCKER." I shouted at him. "DO YOU WANT SOME FUCKING MORE? GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE. GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE OR I'LL GIVE YOU SOME FUCKING MORE." He continued to stumble around. He pulled his sweatshirt hood over his face and tried to stumble back at me, and I punched him in the face. As he staggered back, I rushed in and sprayed more pepper spray under his hood and into his face. I kicked him one more time and he sat down abruptly.

I was a little carried away at this point, got back in my car, and saw him get up and try to stagger back towards us. I gunned the engine and tried to sideswipe him, but he was up on a curb so instead I put on my brights and honked for a minuite, which made him stumble and fall back down. We then drove off.

Twenty minuites later, he and a bunch of cholos in a dodge charger saw us and tried to chase us down. I out-combat-drove them in a 93 geo prism and lost them in about 45 seconds.

And tonight was a good night.

ich

I keep a hard heart. I keep a safe heart. I keep a heart like a complicated equasion, two, three, four steps removed from the touch of reality and buried in supposition, cause and effect, action and reaction. There is little touch, and the caress that brings most hearts up or down is ones and zeros to me. It is factored in. It is tabulated and compared and theorized and then gains meaning through the strange series of cause and effect that has been proven to me over time. If they are interested in you, it is probably insincere unless they want to sleep with you. If they want to sleep with you, they will not want to do so more then once. There is something wrong with me. I am fading. If they touch you, it means that in that moment, you are okay. When you touch me it is cold. The impulse must creep from one equation to the next, finding context, meaning, through these things until it affects my world. These is a steep divide between physicality and reality for me. I do not trust intentions.

breathing down my neck

I am not

I am no one to balk at the odds, declare a miracle of unlikely things. I see them every day, I live them, I am an unlikely thing. To find love, or animosity, or anguish, or any strong emotion across the cold void is not so much remarkable as inevitable, as I see it. We crave it, we hunt it and seek it, so why be so surprised when we find it?

I can't focus. I'm disgusted by my lifestyle.

It's quiet. I don't like quiet. I speak and nothing echos back. When it's too quiet, I move. I transition from place to place.
I remind myself that stability is just a thing, a goal but not an absolute attachment to good. Stability is like chaos, an adjective to a situation, not the definition of it.
I don't have a lot of people. Sometimes I told myself, people matter. Not the classical kind of success. I do it for people. But now I don't have even that.
I'm tasting that success, that I lacked, that I gave up for him or anyone else. It's ok. It's stable. But I'm still unhappy.
There is no greater purpose, there is no plan. There is no future. I'm numb to most things but surviving and not surviving.

I cannot feel my fingers as I type, it's familiar. Portland is so easy, a game I figured out and play from time to time just because it's nice to win, even if there's no prize. I've been changing myself. I hate myself. I find nothing worthwhile or attractive or particularly interesting about myself. I derive all my self worth by the approval or disapproval of other people. Approval makes me feel okay for about ten minutes, max. Disapproval haunts me for weeks. I give myself away because I don't give a fuck, let alone value myself.

I care in jagged little pieces. I give them to people and they scratch when moved against my skin. I care for only people who don't care much for me. Never people who love me. That annoys me. I give little pieces of a greater love reserved to whores and mindless automatons of flesh. I don't know why. I look for approval and love in the most base, unlikely places and crumble a little more as I confirm its absence. I only find feeling in rejection. Am I that desperate for sensation? Now I cannot feel my whole hands, from the fingers to the joints to the palms. My fingers are like cold sticks on the keyboard, stiff and unresponsive. It is familiar.

It is tricky to untangle these things. Stability, chaos, familiarity, progress. What is right, what is just a reaction. I don't have the time, the thought. I am.

ich

Evolving backwards to what I want to be, degenerating mentally as I develop physically. Degeneration.