1/2/18

how is anyone supposed to trust anyone? i like my most melodramatic fantasies. my lips are chapped. i did half a gram of molly on new year's eve. i like the music of dion dimucci

i don't know if i want to remember the things i can write down

i ate a calzone at roberta's

if you're not paranoid, don't talk to me

if you're a person who harbors ill will toward me or wants to do something to make my life worse, don't read my blog

i do bad by people whenever i leave my apartment. i introduced myself to someone, it felt like i was doing bad

[deleted this line because it was too maudlin]

i see the way other people live. it seems completely dishonest, or, dare i say, untenable? i want to go to myrtle avenue and be melodramatic. i want to go to lee avenue and be melodramatic. if none of my friends die in 2018, that would be perfect. if i was able to repair broken relationships with people, that seems impossible

energy in the universe is emotional. people shouldn't have become the way we are today. even, like, 400 years ago we were a lot closer to animals, just by virtue of, like, having to be outside. animals could eat you

someone made me feel bad about wanting to live in isolation with animals on new year's eve, then he went to the film forum party. he said living in ridgewood is like living in isolation. he said he grew up "here." when i asked him where, he said "westchester." i think it would be good if he just... just if i didn't see him again

i sold books at human relations for $35. i want to sell my karl ove knausgaard books. i don't care about him anymore

all the animals everywhere are going to starve or burn up. i don't want to pay attention to 2018. i don't want to meet women. i want to go to oliver coffee and look at the t-shirts and snacks i'll never buy. frankly, though, i'm too afraid. i can sense there are people full of shit reading this blog. i want to forget all of joy williams's writing so i can read it again

last night i watched 'the bachelor.' this morning my mom texted me

there are eight books by frederick barthelme i haven't read. there are six books by richard yates i haven't read. there are twenty-two by anne tyler, eight-and-a-half by david markson

i don't want to feel particularly good. there are at least seven books by thomas bernhard i haven't read

nina was at the bar on new year's eve. i had a lot i wanted to tell her, but i didn't say anything really

i talked on the phone with katie for two hours. i think people would tell me that was a bad idea, but it felt good. while we were talking i collected a ball of wet lint and dust, around my windowsill. i slept for nine-and-a-half hours. my novel is due back to my agent today. my eyes hurt

i want to escape... some things i think, lately, i follow them by thinking "just kidding"... it takes the pressure off!

if you're out there, and reading this, please be nice to me. i'm very fragile right now. i feel better when i'm a little dismissive of people. i like eating apricots. please don't steal or tamper with my car. consider this an open invitation to come to my apartment: 3017 w 23rd st. 2d brooklyn, ny 11224. i reserve the right to turn you away at the door