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13 september 2000
why do i bother Unrelenting heat invades. Not even the ocean's proximity would allow me to wake to cool. Eighty-six percent humidity in Malibu makes no sense, and at the same time I sense an impending relief. Oh lord, work. Meeting after meeting after meeting. Corporate America threatens to eclipse my soul, which would implode if it wasn't enjoying this so much. Yet I'm leading a dual life, on the eve of my "fifteen minutes," so planted in the form of an image on newsprint, duplicated a quarter-million times and distributed tomorrow for all of Southern California to see, my face, fake smile, to me a memory of an uncomfortable photo shoot. So I mowed a month's worth of hair from my face tonight, maybe to evade recognition, or moreso to confront myself. A month's worth of hair, ten years worth of life. They'll start carding me for cigarettes again soon, at least for the next two weeks, until cigarettes are no more a part of me. Tonight the fog tumbled toward me, and I pictured myself on the bow of a ship, ears isolating the ocean's song from the cacophony of internal combustion so omnipresent on asphalt. Shrouded in a crawling cloud, my only regret was the opacity of the night. I wished for stars. The full moon finally peered through fractured fog, or clouds, or low-lying mist, I couldn't discern. I lie on my back and stared at the sky, a curtain parting to clear, the promise of cool. Impending relief becomes reality. Just like the weatherman said... 13 september 1999: : this journal was two years old, but i didn't bother to write 13 september 1998: once upon a time : Once upon a time, I guess I was around 12 or 13 years old. I learned that honesty was pain, good-heartedness was for the weak, and admission to the game of life had a high price. 13 september 1997: penthouse in my apartment : Show me reality, damnit! [ swim back | email me | swim ahead ] |
