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November 5th, 1998

Re: less than a cheerleader, more than an answer @ 01:42 pm

From: exit2k@hotmail.com
Subject: Re: less than a cheerleader, more than an answer
Date: November 5, 1998 1:42:21 PM EST
To: horsestorideon@hotmail.com


ok,

tell me why you replied ALL to the first thing you wrote but not
this?

an accident -- i thought i was to ALL, very disappointing to me to hear
otherwise.


there aren't fucking Curtains here

there isn't an audiance and we aren't the stars, kitten.

it's not about impressing people

or having them think i'm great great great

no

most of them don't.

really.
okay. but even you yourself said you have trouble watching people enjoy
themselves if you don't know if they know "why".


richard doesn't and trevis doesn't and i know you don't and

if they don't know this game already

they really don't care.

do you think that they're reading this shit?

i really don't expect them to

and i'm not really considering that they are.
am i the only one who reads all of this, all the time? oh, and the new
guy. who's the new guy? he scares me, and makes me laugh out loud.


after the first thing i sent out with no response

i realized this

and that's fine.

i feel like a zelot screaming in the streets, eli

i don't feel like i'm at a party

i'm not drinking or talking or changing the music

i'm rambling in a corner

or an alley

or a bench

under shitty lights

and i've picked the people who are in the city

and they'll hear some of the words

and they'll see the spectacle

and they'll go home and make dinner.

it's very simple

right

simple.
but why are you doing this to yourself? i'm sorry to be asking the same
question over and over -- really, you should just call me on the
phuckingphone, it would be quicker and less excruciating, that's what i
gave you that calling card # for.

i want to know what you feel you're getting out of this, because it
seems like you hate it, and it seems you like you need it, or love it,
gotta gotta have it. i'd like to say, it's okay baby, sit down, have a
cup of tea, write in your journal -- there's nothing you need to tell
everyone RIGHT NOW, we have time. there's no limits. you may pop, but
baby aint checking out yet. let off the panic button, just for a while.
just for you?

i wish i could hold your head and touch your hair slowly, and then maybe
if i said it was gonna be okay, you might believe, or understand why.

i also don't see why you're so fucking pressing and offended.

do i have to do all the work here?

make your own fucking sense out of it

or ask me to stop sending it to you
i'm pressing because i'm pushing you, and you shouldn't take me
seriously when i say i'm offended if i'm not supposed to take you
seriously when you say, Okay everyone here we go, when actually all you
want is to scream into a void and have no response; proof you don't
exist.
i can't give you that, mister. you should stop sending them to me if
you want me to not respond. i'll never let you scream alone.

it's like staring out the window on the train on your way home.

it's just a music video

it's just a scene in the background of your favourite film:

none of it is centre stage and none of it will do anything for you
or i or anyone.

it's something you can watch if you feel like it

i'm really not expecting a response from anyone...

i'm actually quite pleased that no one has responded

now if i can get you and richard to shut the fuck up i guess i'll be
all happy, won't i?

i guess you will. i was very sad when i saw what you did to richard's
love-song. it was so beautiful, and to see you screaming at a butterfly
like that ... something's wrong, you're feeling something i don't
understand, and i see the actions, the results ...

i know i've lost you. i talked to you every day for one week, and then
in two days i went ill and built a city and i lost you. isn't it funny
how things work out?


won't i be happy in my drugged-out lonliness?

won't i be happy as i'm falling apart?

don't think you're the only one who knows i'm gonna blow

i am

i'm ready to fucking pop

i've wanted to for so long

i know how it feels when i need a disaster...

and how's your November going?
not bad, but it just started.

i haven't been to a party in ages...

i used to love them as a child as long as i didn't have to talk to
anyone

and no one would talk to me

then

as i got older and did more drugs

i went to a few and became a spectacle for sheridan

i went crazy

like i do everywhere.
like you are now.

my head is a fucking mess

you know that.

i'm a fucking WRECK
you're not so bad as you think.
you gotta give yourself a little more than that.
that's the real reason i keep getting offended and asking you why why
why why why why, it's because all this I'm worthless, I'm a wreck, I can
do no good, I'm falling apart -- it's crap.
the thing is, i've finally figured out the answer to Why. This is all
an elaborate cry for help, constructed to be loudest and most effective
while at the same time cloaking it's own nature. i knew you'd tell me
the secret if i asked you enough times. and you have.

and it's fair to scream for help, and it's even fair to want no one to
answer, but you're not getting your wish.

you promised you'd call. do it. i can't do anything with you like
this. we might as well be telling jokes at a cocktease party. if i'm
not home, wait a few hours and call again. you can call as late as you
like, but if it's after one, then you should probably leave a message
just so i have time to pick up the phone. midnight is a good time. but
no time is as good as the present.

mister, we have to talk.


i want to be shot down
i'll snatch the bullet with my teeth.

i want to be kidnapped
i'll rescue you and beat the nappers to death with their own chains.

i want to be killed
i'll bring you back, blow the blood back into your carcass and make you
breathe.

i'm waiting for the car to blow
i'm underneath fixing it.

andwheni'mdone
i'll shoot you and kidnap you and kill you and drive your car (which of
course will destroy the engine, you know me) just so you don't feel like
you missed out on anything.


i'm trying to eek out a little bit of myself

so when i go

people won't follow
you're just making a road map
you should know
when they want to go
they go

OR

they'll see my errs and tell me what to do
well, i HEAR YOU LOUD AND CLEAR
but i can't write it any more,
i'm gonna teach you to talk on the phone.

because i'm so fucking DESPERATE at this point that everything is
what
i need and i don't have anything and this is all bullshit so i'm going
to stop now

but stop asking

"why"

just fucking figure it out yourself.
O
.
K
.

...

 
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