I remember saying to my friend that if Hayley and I ever broke up—for good, I mean (as I had tried to end it with her numerous times on my own)—I would ditch my clean ideas of anarchy and delve straight into the dark, nihilistic zone where I would eventually crack my head against and lie there decaying like a whale washed up on shore. That was what I said;
and yet, she meant nothing to me. She was just my excuse to go hand and hand with fate in a bareknuckle boxing match.
I ended it with her numerous times, of course,,,, she’d always plead for my return…. I was nothing, just a tortured kid who was broken from a life of torment.
The final straw, when things caved in all around us, was when we got into a fight and she told me she cheated on me so I did something I’m not too proud of, to be honest—I posted nude pictures of her online—don’t tell anyone about this, though : : : I’m not too proud of it.
I didn’t love her; I couldn’t have. She was a disgusting turd of a human being. The only reason I ever dated her was because I thought she was someone else—someone who I really yearned to be with.
The story goes::::
One day I received a message on AIM from some girl who I had no recollection of ever meeting in the place she claimed we had met. The loony bin. There was this one girl who was really cute and we’d flirt with each other and she’d sit on my lap and stuff, so I thought maybe—just maybe—it was her I was talking to. But I was wrong. When I saw the sloppy-faced girl leave her house in Quincy, MA, that day, I immediately regretted making these plans, this date—get stoned and go see a movie in the theater. She was 18 and I was 16 and I knew I couldn’t do any better anyway, so let’s stick with it because at least I could get my dick wet in the process.
She was hideous and I could have done better; I found that out later on. If I only held on a few more years, I’d be swimming in pussy and tits and ass and eyes—I was always a sucker for the eyes.
Hayley’s eyes were demented. I saw nothing receptive within them—nothing that drew me to her.
I learned to never tell a girl I loved her unless I was certain it was true. After only one week of knowing her she told me over the phone that she loved me. I immediately hung up. I was scared. I was 16. I was not ready to fall in love. Especially not with her. When I fall in love—well, let’s just say it would never happen to me.
I didn’t speak to her for two whole weeks. Didn’t answer the phone. Didn’t reply to her messages. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t trying to hurt her, I was just scared.
In second grade I had to read a chapter from a book to my class and I was always a good reader so I had no problem reading the passage but one word made me stop and stutter and the teacher was like: Sound it out, and I tried but I couldn’t because it was just too hard to pronounce——--
L O V E
It was no surprise that one day a different girl found a large black notebook in my closet from elementary school and she opened it up at random and on the page there was typewriting that read:
HOW WAS YOUR SUMMER?
I had hand-written:
WHY? the book said.
everyone died, I wrote.
On the next page was a crass rendering of my entire family, and they all had X’s in their eyes.
So, I was afraid of love. When I finally came to my senses and returned her calls, she was distraught and she asked me why I didn’t just tell her I loved her—I wanted to say: Because I don’t love you. That’s what I wanted to say, but in my stupid nature of being overly nice I told her what she wanted to hear.
It was a mistake and I learned my lesson.
Getting older is about learning from your mistakes. I made two big mistakes that I learned from: 1. Don’t date a girl you had met in the psyche ward, and 2. Don’t tell a girl you have no feelings for that you love her.
That’s how you get trapped….
So I guess you could say I was always bound for a life of disorder. Destined to go out with a bang———and I bang-bang-banged my way through life till I fell in love again
———or at least that’s how the story goes, anyway….
Andrew and I were walking through the Fens when we came across a tall black kid a couple years older than us. He was sitting on a park bench by himself reading a book.
We got talking to him. How the conversation started, I can’t remember. When we were drunk, we spoke to everyone. Our conversation abilities were all inclusive in that state.
I told him we were going to get some coke. Does he want to throw down?
He said he would, although I remember him paying for the whole lot of it, now that I think about it.
His name was Karl and he lived in Dorchester, MA. We took the train to my own town, Newton, then bought the product and hopped back on the train and headed to Dorchester. Not only did Karl pay for the drugs, he offered up his apartment for us to do it in. Sure, we had other options of where to go; it’s not like we were taking advantage of him or anything.
Off the train we walked through an empty dark parking lot. There was only one car in the lot and there were three black teenage girls in it. I don’t know what they were doing in that car; it could have been anything.
They yelled something at us. I yelled back and told them to suck it. One of them yelled again; they wouldn’t stop yelling at us as we passed them.
We sat in Karl’s apartment and I doled out the lines and gave Karl the first hit considering he was the one who paid for it—for all of it, not to mention.
After spinning our brains on a mental compact disc that rotated so quickly it set our minds aflame and the whole CD played exploded, we sat in Karl’s backyard. Andrew told Karl that except for spiders, I had no fears.
I played in a Punk band called Lethal Erection and we needed a new drummer. A year after meeting Karl in the Fens, Andrew and I were riding the Red Line to Quincy Center. A tall black kid came up to us and said: Hey.
Andrew was like: Oh shit, hey.
I said: Hey, but I was wary. Who is this guy?
Andrew reminded me he was Karl, the guy who brought us to his apartment in Dorchester a year earlier to blow lines.
Oh shit, I said. Hey, what’s up?
We’re going to a party in Quincy, Andrew said. You want to come?
He nodded. Sure, he said.
We got off at Quincy Center and started walking to Bell’s. It was maybe 1 or 2 or 3 or 4 in the afternoon. It was summertime and the sun was kicking our asses. Bell would have these barbecues in his backyard during the summer.
Karl told us he played drums. Andrew and I both smiled in unisons.
Andrew turned to me, grinning.
He said: Are you thinking what I’m thinking?
Yeah, I said. I’m pretty hungry too.
No, he said.
I also really wish I had some beer.
He said: Yep, that.
He turned to Karl and said: Our band is looking for a new drummer.
At that, Karl smiled.
Andrew said: You interested?
I said: The night’s just beginning. First, let’s see if he can keep up.
We went to Bell’s and we ate and we drank and then we went back into the city and the night furiously unraveled around us like tilt-a-whirl and when it drew to an end, Karl was still there and we set a time to practice with him.
I am afraid of people. It’s a problem I’ve tried to overcome my whole life—it’s why I did drugs…. I did drugs so I could become one with my fellow humans. Throw inhibitions out it’s easy to talk to them. So easy to relate when you’re dumbed down enough. When you’re virtually retarded.
I can never relate. I’ve always felt like a freak. I don’t know what to say, when push comes to shove. How to start up a conversation with one of them.
When I was younger I remember seeing a kid at the JCC who I recognized from somewhere and I wanted to speak to him so badly that I paced the whole place trying to come up with the right words to initiate a conversation, to summon the courage to speak, just speak, it’s so frikken easy, but when I finally decided what to say he was gone.
Throughout my life I’ve come up with a few strategies for dealing with such a dilemma. Trust me, I’m not that dim to have wasted away my youth being afraid, for I’ve made more friends in such a short period of time than most make in their whole life.
This is how I did it:
I know I’m scared, I’ve always been scared. If I act like I’m not scared (what’s that called when someone pretends to have it all figured out?—oh yeah, confidence!), then maybe, just maybe, it won’t be so bad.
I took this psyche class at CCV and the teacher handed everyone in class a slip of paper with a list of character attributes. I always draw back to this experience because it was amazing and it taught me quite a bit about human nature. I read the list of attributes he gave me and they were me, to a T. I feel ill-fit all the time, I have problems with authority, I don’t like myself, etc. etc. Then he asked the class how many people here feel like their list speaks to them, and I was blown away at how spot on he got me. He must be an amazing psychology teacher if he pinned me that fast. He really understood me, and it was only the second class. Everyone said they could relate to these features. All these perfectly normal co-eds could relate to their own personal lists. Then the teacher said everyone got the same list. My jaw dropped. How could these kids feel what I felt. Only, I surmised, what they felt must be worse. I wear my heart on my sleeve, they don’t. I’ve found a group of freaks who are open about their shortcomings, they haven’t. They still hide in the closet, so to speak. They must be even more scared than me. Wow, I thought.
Wow is right…. I guess, then, we’re all a little afraid.
It is hard being a social creature, with anxieties about being social. It’s just a dilemma I’ve dealt with my whole life.
I saw my past
I saw Andrew
I saw Samantha
I saw them all
and I never put down
Last night I saw
and what could have been
if I stayed on that track
I got high at dusk
drunk my face off
as the crows howled
in the morning dew
Last night I saw my
unfold into the future
I was sober now
I saw my current life
bring me pleasure as I watched
the past break me down
I became a beast
on the run from peace
My existence consisted of
I danced in a smoke-
I remember when she said
I don’t remember a time
when you were ever happy
Last night I saw my current
wife loving me dearly
I saw a peace of mind
as I walked the catwalk
to a happiness I could never have
while I was out
sticking shit in my veins
while I was out
putting shit up my nose
while I was out
I was rabid for it
I was happy as I looked
through the timescope
that highlighted my past
like I was living it
all over again
and I was dying….
But I didn’t die
I saw myself
moving past it
Torn by danger
Ripped by atrophy
We climbed to the roof
of our bane existence
Two boys broken
by youth and all of its
On one side there is
the crusty serpent of
a delirious dream
On the other
the angel stands in
torn clothing waiting
for something to give
The smoke blossoms across
our fields of life’s wisdom
A blundering turn of events
beats us to the punch
Tonight we became
united by grief
Together we sang
the songs of the fallen
Sitting in the steeple
that collapses when
the storm comes crashing
with a surge and a push
as we defy
all sense of purpose
all sense of belonging
All the resplendency
comes with a price
and we were willing
whatever it might cost
There are things that bite
There are things that don’t
My problem in life is I always
mistake the bad for the good
No matter how much wisdom I’ve gained
No matter how little I trust
I always get bit
So I gotta be careful
Sometimes I accept the bad
Sometimes I reject the good
While the angel is squawking in one ear
the devil has control of my soul
No amount of caution or common sense
can break me from its hold
because I always get bit
So I gotta be careful
I hold my defenses in place
I brace myself against tension
Steering clear of all danger as I
go about my day and do what I like
I try to be wary when I come across
someone I don’t know
But I always get bit
So I gotta be careful
I wrote it down so I could forget it
Stuffed it in a box so I could move on
All these anxious thoughts that make me sad
Past problems, future worries
If you went through it like I did
dallied in the places where I lived
lost the things that I sought
you might wanna seek something different
I wrote it down so I could move on
Those dreaded nights
Those mornings of scorn
Those disgusting afternoons
Past problems, future worries
I wrote it on the wings of my paper airplane
and let it sail
Scrawled it on the rough surface of a brick and dropped it
into the water
Watched it sink
Watched it fly
Watched it fade from my mind
I didn’t need to worry about it anymore
If you need me
I’ll be there
If you care enough to ask
I’ll drop everything to
lend you a helping hand
I’m not a saint
I’m not a devil
I’m only a man
If you want me
you’ll see me
I’m an enigmatic chick
waiting to be hatched
I’m a dirty, disturbed piglet
waiting to come back
If you see me
you’ll see me
for all I’m worth
In case of emergency
stare in the mirror
and say my name
three times and you’ll
find I’m all you need
There is a darkness
from where the boy lays
in a flaming field of dreams
needles & razor blades
Standing tall in the darkness
he falls through forces of death
shielding himself from
all the waste of what once was left
In the future his eyes go blind
In the past he has no reason to see
He frolics in streets of laughter
while his aura is a little less than glee
Now he wanders a worthless decay
in a land of otherrworldly contraband
He seeks that next wonderous bid
but lately he has the devil at his command
This boy, he is a fiendish beast
lying naked with atrophy and desire
He will kill for things less than admirable
but watchout because his mind is ridden with fire
I’m walking alone through the Everett suburbs. Honestly I don’t know where I’m walking. My band just played a show at the Warehouse, and now I’m shitfaced. I’m walking and I see a bunch of college-age kids standing outside their house drinking beers and I ask for one. This guy hands me a beer. Then Samantha pulls up to me in her car.
“What are you doing back here?” I ask.
“I couldn’t remember how to get home,” she says.
“But you left half an hour ago.”
“I’ve been driving in circles. I haven’t drunk like this in two months, I don’t know what I’m doing. Can you drive me at least to your house and I’ll probly be better by then and I’ll drive the rest of the way home?”
“But you’re a way better drunk-driver than me.”
“Please,” she says.
She must really be drunk; she never lets me drive her car.
She gets out of her car and goes around and hops in the passenger-side. I sidle behind the wheel with the beer in my hand.
I can’t remember which side the gas is on. Here goes nothing….