Wednesday, October 31, 2007

she wrote me a letter, and she wrote it so kind

I've been getting shit in the mail. Letters from my tattooed Leo in Utah I never expected to hear from again, photos from weddings, a personal growth/pop philosophy/self-help book from my dad's best friend Russel. The universe is telling me something. People care about me. People don't dissappear. I matter to people. Things come back around.

Decay leads to regeneration leads to decay leads to regeneration.

I need a new job, but I keep putting off really looking for one. May do elder home care. May model for artists. May bartend. Suggestions welcome.

Also, I'm the Out of the Blue art gallery's poet of the month.

Monday, October 29, 2007

One Night in Boston

It's my last night at Spooky World and I'm hugging everyone, getting emails and phone numbers. We are talking and on a small TV in the corner, the Red Sox win the World Series. All the ghouls cheer.

Sam calls because Stacy has broken up with him. After I leave Spooky World, I drive to his place, where he has been denting a bottle of Johnny Walker by himself. I am still in my vampire makeup and am wearing my Red Sox hat for solidarity with the city. We sit and talk about entropy, about the unfairness of the goddamn godless anthopomorphically ordered universe.

We walk to buy cigarettes. The most comforting thing I can think to say is "Look at it this way, Sam. In 100 years, you'll be dead." We laugh.

Sam lives in one room with nothing but books. He has no cups and you have to go through some other guy's room to get to the kitchen, so I take the only container I can find, a Maker's Mark bottle, and fill it up with water from the bathtub faucet.

"Drink this. All of it, and take these," I say, handing him the bottle and two pills.

"What are they?"

"Ibuprofen. Please. You think I'd give you something illicit?"

I leave him and walk down the cold, nearly November street in my vampire makeup, Red Sox hat, and Sam's jacket. Everyone is out and drunk and toasting to the universe for letting their beloved baseball team win. I think of everyone I've ever loved in any way.

When I get home I go to the bathroom to wash off my makeup. I see myself in the mirror and see the red blood tears Tess always paints down my face, bequeathed to me from her own days in the vampire house. I scrub and scrub until they're gone.

I'm sure there's a poem or something in there somewhere.

Thursday, October 25, 2007


Behind the scenes at Spooky World. See me putting on makeup!


I'm a cuddle whore.

I guess it's lonely in Boston sometimes, even though I can hardly walk down a street without someone saying hi to me, someone asking how I'm doing and really seeming to want to know. I know a lot of people for having lived here a shorter period of time, but I'm going all adolescent now and feeling like no one knows me. I miss my friends in LA and Michigan and Indiana and wherever they are, but I do not call them as much as I should. I write fiction, I write my poems and read them, but what is that? Jme had this great line in a poem about Elliot Smith last night. To paraphrase, "the lovers who love the artist but hate the human it limps with."

Oh me. Let's go all emo, shall we? Isn't this just life? Isn't loneliness just the natural state of the developed cerebral cortex along with a heart pumping blood? Isn't that what all the writers and singers who've ever lived have been saying all along? Isn't that dull longing in the pit of the chest that we call love just loneliness inverted?

Yeah, call me emo. When I'm a vampire I paint down my cheeks tears of blood. Right now we call this ache emo. Ten years ago it was clinical depression. 400 years ago it was Melancholia. The art will live past the labels. Fling them at me. I will tack them to my wall till they lose their meaning, and the art will go on.

Monday, October 22, 2007

On Vampiring

Man, being a vampire is hard work. I'm all scraped and bruised, and last night I had to go home early because I twisted my knee. Still, there's nothing as gratifying as scaring a group of cocky teenage boys so badly they run into a wall and fall into a pile.

Dracula's Dungeon is an unstoppable force. We will scare the shit out of you if it's the last thing we do. If it breaks our bodies, we will make you piss yourself.

I've noticed a range of distinct types of attitudes in the customers of the house.

1: The truly terrified. Often children or large groups of teenage girls. They scream, huddle together, cower, and sometimes cry. One teenage girl got so scared she ran face-first into a corner. We were worried we broke her face, but she was okay. These people are the most fun to scare.

2: The "I'm-Here-To-Be-Scared" laughers. This is the group I fall into when I go through other houses. A lot of times groups of young boys fall into this group, but also generally 20-somethings on dates and the good-natured, childless middle-aged. They come in, scream, are scared by us, then laugh -- not at us, but with us in a sort of "oh, you got me" way. When I laugh like this, I'm laughing at myself for being scared. Big groups of boys who run through and fall over each other laugh with a refreshing joy-of-life, like "thank you, universe, for letting me be scared by these vampires," and it makes me love everything.

3: The "I'm-Really-A-Coward" laughers. The people who are such deeply pathetic pussies that they come in and think it makes them look brave to mock and taunt the actors. Yes, because it takes a lot of balls to go into a funhouse full of paid actors in makeup and make fun of them. I bet if anything truly scary ever happened to these people, they'd shit their knickers. We get these a lot, especially on nights the Sox are playing. They are almost always males, ranging in age from say, 13 to 70. Making these douches jump is a source of great pride for us, and we always get them at least once before they leave. If you are one of these people, know we see through the act to the canary-yellow stripe down your back, and we're all glad you paid 20 bucks to make yourself look bad in front of your homies/children/extended family/wife/girlfriend/girl who thinks you're a great guy, but doesn't like you like that.

4: The "Shit-I-Shouldn't-Have-Brought-My-Four-Year-Old" laughers. Sometimes parents with petrified children will affect this disturbing, forced laugh when we scare them. This never bothers me, because they're obviously trying to mollify the child's terror, but Christ, people, what are you thinking bringing those super little ones through Dracula's Dungeon? I would think it would be even scarier to be surrounded by vampires, and instead of sharing in your fear, your parents are laughing maniacally. But what do I know about kids?

Thursday, October 18, 2007

I've got to stop biting the inside of my lower lip. It gives me these huge white knobby things growing up from inside my mouth and makes me look diseased. Of course if I ever want to attract a husband, I should probably concentrate on curbing one of my many other unpleasant habits, such as compulsive spitting, picking my cuticles, and sniffing random objects like the insides of books, clothes (clean or soiled), and other people's food.

I wish someone would pay me for being awesome.

Monday, October 15, 2007

1: Vampiring is the greatest thing I have ever been paid to do. I get to scream and insult people to their faces. It's the opposite of working at Starbucks. Today my body is sore from leaping out of windows at people and my throat hurts from hissing. There are worse things.

2: I think I need to buy a new computer. This situation is not working. It's making it difficult to write and I also feel completely cut off from everyone living alone with no internet.

3: If I ever have enough money, I think I may have a computer I intentionally fuck up just to have an occasional excuse to go and flirt with the Geek Squad.

4: Really lonely lately and really sad, and I don't know what to do about it. I don't even want to leave my house even though it's so depressing there all by myself with no internet. I know I should look for a new job but I can't bring myself to do it yet. I just sit alone and read or try to write or stare at nothing.

Saturday, October 13, 2007

After RESIDENT EVIL: EXTINCTION, Mike "Fitz" Fitzgerald makes the following comment regarding the new iPod ads plastering the T:

"I mean, there's rocking out to your iPod, and then there's what appears to be being shot by a sniper."

These aren't even the best ones. They're just all I could find in my 30 second google image search.

Yesterday my food consisted of a poptart, a jr. cheeseburger deluxe and small chili from Wendy's, movie popcorn, a couple of bowls of frosted cheerios, instant oatmeal, and salt water taffy. I'd say I think my seventeen-year-old boy lifestyle is starting to show on my hips, but I don't want Mallory to yell at me.

Thursday, October 11, 2007

After talking to a literary agent about how slim my chances are of ever having any of my novels published, I proceeded to the Cantab where I read my vampire poem and drank massive quantities of bourbon with Chris and Sam (happy birthday Sam). We bitched about various things such as love and writing, then I passed out on Sam's couch. It was so... something.

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

Humbling to find yourself at 2:30am in need of only a stopwatch and a copy of Frankenstein, and realizing you have no means of obtaining either for at least several hours.

I'm writing a trilogy of Halloween poems from the perspectives of the Vampire, the Wolf Man, and Frankenstein's Monster. Two down, one to go. It's fun to write about things that aren't me. Though I guess these things aren't me in the same way the obsessive protagonist in the Tell-Tale Heart wasn't Poe.

Yesterday I walked out of the house and spent twelve consecutive hours in others' company. Today I turned my phone off and only left the house to go to the library.

I also wrote a poem I want to post here about how I am with boys, but it would leave me very naked. Along the same current, I ran into Isis yesterday. To my surprise, we exchanged words numbering in the double digits.

It's a Libra day today. Everything's trying to balance itself out.

Monday, October 8, 2007

Last night my cheeks were sunken and my lips were dripping blood, and I still managed to get hit on. One chick even told me I had a nice rack. Working at Spooky World is exhausting, but more fun than pouring coffee.

I will need more money eventually, but I haven't resorted to selling parts of my body yet. I'm thinking of modeling for art classes again. Right now let's just enjoy right now.

When I leave Boston for good, be it in a car, on a plane, on a train, on a boat, or in death, the filmmaker of my life will show a slow montage of me drinking beer and whiskey with different boys on balconies and porches. Playing over this montage should probably be "A Case of You," by Joni Mitchell. If that makes the tone too maudlin, we should probably just go with "Don't Stop Believin'," which pairs well with any montage.

Also, the other night I was out with my cousin in the Back Bay and two drunk dudes in Red Sox hats declared loudly that I was "hotter than Daisuke's wife," and asked if I wanted to share their pizza. Oh Boston, I do love you.

Saturday, October 6, 2007

Everyone I've been talking to makes me realize how far I have to go, how much I have to work if I really want to do anything with this writing thing. Turning 25 has maybe (maybe predictably) turned into a quarter-life crisis. Or another one. I think my whole life is a crisis.

My parents came to the Cantab. I'm not sure if they had a good time, but they didn't seem to scandalized. I didn't read because nothing I had seemed parent-appropriate, which makes me hate myself. I was just glad Jme didn't do the face-fucking poem in front of my dad.

My computer is nearly dead. It needs help.

Wednesday, October 3, 2007

I'm not dead, but my pirated internet isn't working so well. I have a lot to say. I'm unemployed as of thirteen hours ago. But my parents are visiting and I got a million friends and it's a New England fall. Things are okay.