ericboy's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Turkey and Provolone on Wheat I'm sitting at Lestat's, looking at the sandwich that I'm about to eat. Katie asked me to come over tonight and I said "no". She didn't like that too much, but, hey, I'm the boss of me. I still don't like hurting her. I checked out The Lostprophets page to see when the new album, that will make the listener shit their pants, according to an article in Kerrang, but it's not even mixed yet. Reading the postings by Ian gave me a little insight to his character. He's quite a refreshing, easy-going guy. Of course, he's British, and I think that accounts for a lot of his coolness. After work, I decided to take advantage of living in a coastal town and drove out to Ocean Beach. I first parked by the cliffs and sat out facing the ocean and listened to the rythmic flow of the ocean as it pounded on the rocks below. It was so peaceful, but I found the complete lack of horizon a bit disconcerting. It was pitch black out on the water and I found it hard to envision that there is a wide world out there. It all looked like an ominous cloud of darkness to me. Then I drove to find the beach. I took a road that lead in to what I thought was a bridge. I saw a sign at the head of it that said "No Trucks Over Five Tons" so I assumed me and my little car would be fine. It wasn't a bridge at all but a pier to fish off of. The looks I got as I creeped down the middle at drive-by speed. At the end of course was nothing, so I turned around and went back. As I passed a couple, they asked for a ride, so I stopped and let them in. Sonny and Ryan seemed very nice and very drunk. They offered me pot when we passed back out into the street, which I respectfully declined and bid them a good evening. Then I found the real beach and walked along the water line as the sea tickled my feet as it came and went. It felt good. Several fires were raging within parties at spotted intervals on the sand and I thought about inviting myself to one of them but I've never been good at meeting people. I feel outside of most social situations these days and so I stayed away. I walked back to the car and came here to write this. I'm slowly and gently going insane. I tried to drink my Zippo this evening. I was sitting outside of Hollywood and reading Flowers for Algernon and I pulled a cigarette out of my pack. Rather than put it in my lips, I struck the Zippo with the other hand and brought it to my mouth. The heat caused me to recoil and I stared at the instrument as if it had rebelled against me. There's a certain comfort in insanity. I'm listening to Onelinedrawing and there's eighties in the background, but not good eighties music. The kind that I could do without. I realized that I'm getting old. I sat with Monica in the apartment and we talked about how great nineties music is and how the kids today are so whacked out based on the people they choose to celebrate. 50 Cent was a genuine gang-banger before he started telling Shorty it was his birthday and slaughtered a family in their home while they slept. Now everyone is eager to throw their hard-earned money at him and beg him to grace them with his profanity. What a sick, strange world we live in. I'm really starting to miss the life that I used to lead in Texas. The friends and whatnot. My family. Can I ever go back? I've tied myself to things out here in San Diego. Moonshine Junkie. The Microcosm Project. Katie. These knots can be undone, but is that what I want? I just don't know anymore these days. This sandwich is good. I've been having the strangest dreams. I dreamt that everything that should be in the top right drawer of my dresser had been moved to the top left and a note had been attatched to it that said "Eric, Spring Cleaning! Better get the lead out. -Monica" I think it was a bit prophetic, because Monica told me over lunch today that she's getting ready to move and I need to find a place to live. In another dream, I was outside at a gathering that I had put together and standing near a hammock strung in a tree next to a GIANT spider. Fucking huge. Everyone was at this party, even people that I've met and can't remember their names. Kim even made an appearance, with tears in her eyes. I haven't thought of her in a long time. I also dreamt that I had a phone conversation with my drummer that was so banal that I remembered every word. If my dreams are so startling real, does that mean that my life is dreamlike? It does kind of make me think, you know. My dreams are so real, so convincing, so boring. What does it mean? I dream of the trivialities of life: picking up a paycheck, calling a friend. Oh my God I just remembered another dream I'm lying in bed, not wanting to get up but unable to sleep any more. The alarm goes off and so I turn it off and get up. I go to the bathroom and brush my teeth. I come out to see that I'm in the home that I spent most of my youth in. My mother and father are sitting on the couch, she watching television and he reading the paper. My brother passes me in the hallway and says something from Stephen King's Black House. I say that's not funny at all and go to the kitchen to have breakfast. I ate frosted flakes that were cheap and stuck to my teeth. I walk back to my room to get dressed and Cory says "Are you alright?" "Yeah. I'm fine." "Are you sure?" "Yeah." "You went to the Black House again last night, didn't you, you naughty little boy?" "Seriously now, cut the shit. That's not funny." "Calm down. I'm just laying a little neuralmyalgia on you." "Neuralmyalgia?" "Yeah. It means I'm playing games with your head." "I know." pause "Good word." "Thanks." I finish dressing and go back to the kitchen and make my lunch for school. Dad looks up from his paper. "Here's a good word to use on someone." "What's that?" I ask. "Pupane- a questionable political opinion as expressed by a minor." "That could be fun." "You could really mess with their head since it's so similar to 'propane'." "yep." Creepy shit. It reminded me how Cory was always intimidated by my intelligence and wanted to be smarter than me. He would ask me questions from the Physical Science course that he took in High School. I usurped the course and went straight to Biology so he loved to trump me with questions from the lesson plan that I'd never had. He would always utter a triumphant "ha" when I conceded that I didn't know. I miss him. 3:18 a.m. - 2003-06-30 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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