It is far to frustrating to actually write coherently these days. Mostly, it all sounds like I am verging on some kind of sucidal rage or maybe jsut ready to end it all for a band of fucks who dont know that we are quickly approcahing the edge - but that is not the case. Who really knows where the edge is, anyway?
No, I am jsut another drunk in this world and we are humping through it like everyone else.
I think my problem tonight was the fact that my favorite movie was on - Leaving Las Vegas.
Not so much becasue i think that Nicholas Cage is some wonderful method actor who does great justice to a character who drinks himself to death. No, I like it becasue it is akward and the dialog between the drunk and hooker goes from lovey dovey and happy relationshop talk, to crude comments about blow jobs and how random guys will shove her face down into a pillow while she is wearing the jewlery that Cage bought her.
All of it is very raw and in the end (stop reading if you have not seen the movie) he dies with her on top of him.
That, my sorry sack of lack luster readers, is what this world is missing. People willing to endure akward conversations, situations and crisis all in the name of being used so as not to feel so wickely alone every waking moment of your life.
Who better to pick than a drunk and a hooker - they dont have feelings, they dont matter in society. Kill one and there is anoter making his way through the ranks ready to take his stand on the battle field.
No, this is a good cinema. My roommate already mocked me as he came home and found me watching the tail end of the hour and a half drama.
"My god, you really are depressing hte shit out of me here..." he said - stoping only brifley to take in the last words of the movie.
This makes mroe sence if you understand the events that unfolded the weekend before. Broken computers, books and dreams, as a few of us got together to drink and instead found ourselves realizing the the stack of rejection letters from shit-hole news organizations are really jsut formalized forms of being turned down by the hooker at the end of hte bar.
"...It was a bad disease, but her searching was over..."
She smells nice, we buy her drinks and even compliment her shoes or ear rings or what ever the hell hookers wear, and in the end - after 50 buck of watered down liquor - we get a form letter in the mail promissing that if we keep trying someday, maybe some day, we will get lucky and someone will want to take us home for the night.
Fuck that, I'm sick of it.
I'll jsut tell my landlord that I staying and not going anywhere. God, no. Even that is too depraved for me.
There is one job prospect on the horizon. All that is left now is for me to fuck it up in the interview. I did a bang up job with the orlando job and now, I am prepared to torpedo my next job prospect.
Oh, but these are far to heavy of topics to really care anymore.
There really is only so much you want to endure while reading, and god knows I am not doing a serive to any of you prick-fucks who acutally log on to this crap.
That is your fault. Not mine.
I think I am prepared to annoucne that one of our roommates has fianlly caught on to what it means to live here.
After meaningless destruction of our apartment and some late night diner food, our newest recruit let lose.
"A someking section makes not sence," the waitress said about hte recent smoking ban. "its like having a peeing section in acommunity swimming pool."
"Ah," he said contemplativly looking toward the celing. "Sol, it is convenient just innapropriate."
Also, in a bizaree game of truth or dare...
"Ok, cut the crap. Are you a lesbian? I just have to know."
This he said to our roommate after we tossed papaers and poured beer all over her and the apaprtment. Really no rhyme or reason, jsut a good old fasion grilling...McCarthy would be proud.