My Whole Expanse I Cannot See…

South Park is simply absolutely fucking brilliant. Seriously, it’s amazing how quickly they pulled off such a spectacular post-election episode. It’s based on the Ocean’s heist movies, and it’s beautiful.

I feel personally responsible for electing Barack Obama because I rocked the vote.

As far as writing goes, I’m rather happy with Suicide Party. It’s really dark, edgy, has good flashes of imagery. It was inspired by my own astonishing depression and the exquisite prose of Catherynne M. Valente. Reading her has made me a better writer.

Honestly, in the last almost three years since I nearly permanently died, five writers have shaped the way I write about this completely strange and dark period in my life; Catherynne M. Valente, Jeff VanderMeer, K.J. Bishop, Michael Cisco and Chuck Palahniuk. They’ve all made my writing into something I’m proud to share. Yes, I’ve been depressed, even passively suicidal, but I’ve been able to put it to words, which I think is really important.

I’ve been so depressed because I’ve desperately wanted something that fell apart. I’ve been completely entangled in fixing it. The thing is, one person can’t fix or build a relationship. To me, when people are in love and want a life together, they’re a team. Neither person is perfect, sometimes one might fuck up really badly, but at the end of the day they try to work things out, because ultimately they feel like life is just better together. That’s how I feel, and I’ve seen it work. I’ve also seen it fail.

I’ve been a son in two divorces. My best friend’s wife left him after almost twenty years. Sometimes things go really wrong. I lost my love, the same brilliant woman, twice in almost four years. It pretty much broke me this time. For me, the hardest part was chasing the fix, the idea that we could be right again. Truth be told, I love her so astonishingly much, I’d take a zombie bite for her. It’s just that we have pieces that don’t fit. I can’t be what she needs. We see relationships very differently. I honestly realized all of this tonight.

No matter how beautiful, I can’t keep chasing a ghost. I can’t leave half myself with someone who can’t keep it. I’ve been absolutely destroying myself. So, it stops right now. I’m finally awake.

I’m a suicide party with no refreshments. I’ve no chocolates with razor-blade centers, no arsenic covered hors devours. I’ve no thalidomide wine to wash it all down. No waiters serving whole-grain crackers topped with a quick shotgun blast to the face. There are no crucifixes for one to hang one’s coat, or oneself. I’m a horribly under-staffed and under-stocked, poorly decorated wake not to be. I’ve but one lonely guest, and all I have to offer is time, time that they don’t want.

I love John McCain’s political ads…

Barack Obama, sadist, polyamorist, kitten eater. If you vote for him, you may as well just kill yourself.

I’m John McCain and I approved this message.

So, let’s say God is real and suicide is definitely a one way trip to Hell. I wonder if falling asleep and not wanting to wake up counts as being suicidal.

I wonder if drug overdoses, or over-indulging in brandy is enough to end up swimming in the Lake of Fire. I wonder how much intent matters to God. I mean, consciously we know that overdoses are very possible, but I don’t know that most people expect to enjoy their vice and die.

I wonder if not wanting to live is the same as actively taking steps to die. I wonder if suicide can be passive.

So, this Halloween was interesting. As far as costumes go, I really outdid myself. As I’ve written, I’m fairly, okay, really addicted to a Nirvana video of them performing Dive. So, I was inspired to dress as zombie Kurt Cobain in drag. It was kind of a re-imagining, because I couldn’t match his look exactly, but I think I was faithful to the essence of the video. I think I have more piercings and tattoos.

If I decide to do something, I get rather into it. I do it with everything, really. Happiness, depression, love, drugs, sex, tattoos, zombie costumes, whatever, I take it all the way downtown. It’s probably the best and worst thing about me. 

The party was fun and depressing all at once. I know lots of people I don’t particularly want to know. It’s not that they’re not nice people, I just don’t fit, but I pretend to fit. It’s that “alone in a crowd” feeling, I feel it almost everywhere, all the time. Then again, there are people who do fit me, people I hung out with tonight, and time with them is too short. That contrast is really difficult, pretending to fit and actually fitting. It’s depressing, I get lost, I forget that there are places that feel good.

I went so many years bored and lonely, completely apathetic to do anything about it. I’ve just only started making my own way in the last three years, meeting people who really feel right to me. I hired assistants, started doing things that really suit me, trying to make connections that don’t feel empty. I met Sara, fell in love, brilliantly choked on some juice. I died for a bit, came back with a tube in my throat. I lost Sara, I got better acquainted with not talking. I found Sara again, I got used to feeling “at home.” Sara had to move to Boston, I handled that spectacularly badly, lost Sara again. The last three years in Reader’s Digest form.

Now, here I am, zombie Kurt Cobain in drag. Trying to feel like the right me again. Trying to fit when I sometimes feel broken.