11-19-03 - 11:27 p.m.
I've gotten this diary bug, meaning I realized too fully that I have an audience. Especially you, Wolfe. Oh no, must avoid being my self-indulgent, people-obsessed self. Fuck that.You know, you put a lot of expectations on me. I don't know who I'm really talking to here. Just letting off some steam I suppose.
I am slowly gaining the confidence to be myself. Hey, maybe I *am* a whore. I think it would be helpful to go ahead and say, "So what? How's my pussy your business?" I admit it. I think sex for pleasure is okay sometimes, although I admit I am a bit hurt that Nash hasn't called me, especially since I'm actually interested in him. If he wasn't funneling a bottle every other day, and if he hadn't just come out of a bad relationship that left his head fucked up, I might try and go for something. I knew from the beginning of our little reunion, however, that circumstances would not lead to something real and permanent. I just want to be around him.
And my favorite subject. Bat. I miss him a good deal. There's no feeling like the feeling of being recognized in the way I was. I want to dissolve in his arms. We have a very different dynamic now.. I want so badly for him to be sober. All my friends seem to be alcoholics. I have a feeling that one day I'll have to give it (drinking) up myself. His drinking really did hurt me. I know it was only part of the problem, and I don't want it to be my scapegoat. But it hurt. I'll write off the fact that he got involved with two different women while drunk, considering my transgression in May (albeit less serious.) But slowly alcohol replaced some of the space that was devoted towards me. He was tired, he was spacey, he was sick, the sex got bad. I was so angry when he had a hangover on his birthday, I'd tried so hard to make it special. Then after the breakup, he got suicidal, he dropped out of school.I'm sure some part of me thinks if he'd sober up we could get back together. You never know. It'd be a miracle, him sobering up. I'm not going to ask how AA went. I won't have to.
I used to imagine what he'd look like when he got older, the wrinkles of concern that rest turning into wrinkles of age. He'd be an old poet, an old musician. I was proud of him, honestly and truly proud. I knew he could be something, if someone took the time. I'd imagine him as an established artist. He's more progressive, less pretentious, more humble than the other poets Yes, he has his snobby moments. As a poet, even I do, meeting another poet who when I askwhat kind of stuff they write, they say "I just write whatever comes off the top of my head." They shouldn't be poets, they should be psychics. I admit that I am annoyed at what I consider a simplification of an art. That's like, "What kind of art do you draw?" "Oh, I just doodle around in a notebook during math class." People may call Bat's poetry nonsense, but at least it's calculated nonsense. At least he tries to actually put something new into the world instead of stringing cliches together in freeform.
Yes, the poet's group has ruined me so that I will never enjoy the following type of poem, which I keep seeing everywhere:
"The dark is everywhere / ripping at my soul / tendrils of nothingness / I am asleep / Swallow me dear monster of doom" shit.
Gothic Masturbation.
