Sunday, July 22, 2012

Hollering in the other room (Back to writing the new novel…)

Later I'm walking home from the T, so glad I got this coat—it's so heavy it almost hurts my shoulders, but it comes close to keeping me warm. I got a little scared when I realized it was probably from the German military and is it from before or after but I can't think about that too much, maybe just the velvet at the collar and the arms and how I'm not shivering so much. I step inside the house, and someone's blasting some awful music. I'm walking up the stairs and what the fuck, someone's playing "Aqualung" in my house. I can't believe it.

I get to the living room and there's Brian with three of his buddies from the Coast Guard. The Coast Guard boys are hollering and there are beer cans everywhere, I feel like I'm in a frat house. And Abby, Sean, Bobby, and Billy are all drinking with the straightboys like they're sorority girls, Bobby giggles and says want a beer? Gross. I walk into my room, even though there's nothing in my room – everything’s in the living room. That's what I'm supposed to do tonight, move my shit in because I'm finally done painting and I put the new carpet in and all.

I call JoAnne, who tells me Chrissie's in jail in Idaho or Florida, she stole a trick's car in Seattle and took off. She says Andee had a panic attack on Halloween and she told him listen, you're totally inconveniencing me. She says he's not eating anything, and all he does is smoke pot all day and you put your hand on his heart and it's like a motor. And then she went over Jack and Jamie’s house and some man turned blue and someone there was smacking the guy to try to wake him up and someone else was screaming and crying and JoAnne started laughing: Okay, let's get high. She says: I don't know if I can kick, heroin takes care of me.

She doesn't really have options —there's her mother's house in Seattle where her brother beats her, or Jack and Jamie and junk in San Francisco. I want to say come stay with me, but what the hell would she do in Boston with a bunch of Coast Guard guys hollering in the other room? So instead I say: You can come here if you know you're not going to get strung out. And then I'm thinking about San Francisco and being a whore, people dying of AIDS, trying to make a living, all those years of hating anyone who called me young and then with JoAnne I finally realized we could share our rage and make it into something else and what am I doing now? JoAnne asks me to send me the papers I've written for school but I'm embarrassed because I feel like Brown is draining away everything I've just found and why do I get so dehydrated every night and I'm sick of driving back and forth from Providence to Boston but really that's not the problem it's just every time I hear someone say the word ontology or epistemology or liminal I want to die.

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