There is too much wine mashing up with my blood. And behold, yes I’m drinking from an Olive’s plastic cup. That’s how not classy I am. I’m thinking of August 2010 but then I’m jumping to May 2011 and October 2011. It’s funny, I think, how my first tattoo became the most honest and sincere thing I have ever learned about myself. It’s true, I don’t think I have ever felt more fragile and unsafe and alone than in these past few weeks. I’m tired of so much, disappointed by so many. I’m writing a lot, and I hate it all. Everything I’m bringing to paper is about someone I will most definitely never meet and I feel sick down to my bones realizing just how much I’m failing in finding the right words.  There is just not enough time and I’m wasting too much of it just because I’m stuck in this sadness, in this god forlorn place. I see them moving on, making progress and I wonder if I can ever change this world. But then I just lay back down and I go to sleep. I’ve died more in my dreams than I have lived in the past days and it’s beginning to have effect on my conscious behavior.  I’ve come Home to a person so many times in my head that I can’t even explain it anymore, I can just feel it. It feels so safe right there, in his house somewhere far off from my past and everything I have lost. It is the only thing there is, real or not. And I know I’m falling more and more. And while to everyone else this is nothing more than absurdity enwrapping my words. I’ll just have more wine. Because after all, losing hope beats the shit out of simply losing love.

For tonight and every Night for the Rest of your life
It’s Jeff Bridges Movie Night
<3

So,… I was sporting my John Cusack appreciation shirt all day yesterday. As well as listening to John Cusack 80s-Appreciation Music I felt like THE dork..par excellence.

Even more so I felt like cheating on Jeff Bridges. This, is serious.

Hurt me. Disappear on me. Line up, decorate my walls.

So, what happened last Night, was me bumping into a person, who is very dear to me.
Basically, it was me against the rest of the world.
I went to the airport without knowing for sure he’d be coming in that day but I still went with high hopes, had my doubts along the way, wished for a while it wouldn’t happen for various reasons I won’t discuss openly but still sat there, letting two flights from London pass, ruled as unsuccessful. He came in on the third flight. And that’s when I saw all this bigotry and ugliness of the world crunched in two different kinds of people. There were the people who were taking pictures for a living and those who did it for the pure stupendously stupid sensation of meeting somebody famous. I stood in the middle, unsure of whether I should start crying or just start kicking everyone around me. I felt ashamed of even stepping up to him, let alone trying to get his attention, and that even though I sincerely do do do like this guy. There was not a single moment I didn’t feel the longing to just shoot everyone bothering him, and making sure he’s getting out of this mess safely. Truly, it was just a farce. There was absolutely NO regard of respect or distance or simple common courtesy. They were shoving the cameras in his face, there was no way for him getting through this unbelievable crowd of totally insane people. So many bystanders just stopping for the thrill of it, not even caring WHO he was. Getting his signature on a blank piece of paper to sell it on ebay, or to have others talk about how they’ve met a famous Hollywood Star. Yes, this is his job. And he might have signed up for getting recognized. Yes, but in this way? He most certainly did NOT sign up getting pushed for the best picture, getting touched or otherwise disturbed by people who don’t give a flying fuck about him or what he does.

I looked at him and I wanted to wrap him in a blanket and guide him out of there. He seemed shy and a little overwhelmed. And I hated myself for just being there. I don’t understand why in this world people who do this job get to be put up on a throne of some kind and get treated like animals in a Zoo. I don’t get it. Yes, he’s uncommonly beautiful, yes he’s talented and seems like the most humble and sweet person you could meet. And this might seem a little out of the ordinary for some people. But does that give you the right to treat him so very differently, treat him with so little respect? Why are there just the same faces, radiating ugliness and disrespect and stupidity and superficiality and senselessness, over and over and over at these kind of “events”? One simple rule. If you do not really care about the person, why bother waiting and bothering him? Just keep walking.
Why.do.you.even.stop.if.there’s.otherwise.not.a.moment.in.your.everyday.life.
he’s.on.your.mind? WHY?!?
I don’t understand this world. I don’t understand people. I’m just so sorry.
I’m sorry Jake, for this was truly not the way I pictured your arrival here. I’m so sorry.

I think that, in a way, this emotional suicide was necessary. The last thing I wrote about you revolved around your death and me actually killing myself. It was so dark, so evil, so self destructive. I needed to kill us both in order to being able to breathe again after more than two years of a very slow, consistent massacre.

I can breathe now. I look at my new tattoo and I can breathe. I still hope, everyday, that this progression is real and not just a weird form of self protection. That I’m not just too scared to admit how much I still miss you…but you know, maybe everything is going to be just fine after all. Maybe I can go on without enduring your shoveling and willfully throwing me down, ‘cause I’m sure as hell not gonna miss that about you…

I enjoy this because for once… it wasn’t about you.

The perfect Stranger

I think about the times I used to see you all the time. I think about them as a never ending stream of happiness and pain all shrouded in one single shot to the Head.