Love is a greeting card.

Love is a word, because people don't know how to explain their feelings--I don't believe in words--You wake up one morning and everything is different, she's a bitch, and you're a complete asshole. You're snorting coke in a bathroom, and she's fucking her ex-boyfriend in the back of his car. Don't say "I love you."

words are already weak enough.

Maybe it's because my luck is worth shit. Maybe it's because I'm still unaware of how to start conversations, let alone carry them. Maybe it's because I need a drink. Maybe it's because i don't like looking into peoples eyes. maybe it's becuase i'm nervous to call people. maybe it's because i'm scared to do anything with anyone that i don't know perfectly well. maybe it's because i'm rude, or shy, or not shy enough, or too crazy, or too "out of hand", or not serious enough. Maybe it's because I don't talk enough, or talk to much.

Personally, I think it's becuase I curse like a sailor.

On second thought--

I hope you all burn in hell,

I'll be waiting to gladly welcome ya'll and give ya the grand tour.

Love letter to my elementary school dream girl.

I'm not a fighter. I've never been a fighter, I just don't have it in me.

I've been pretty fuckin' depressed the last few weeks. The reason: not even God knows darling.

I used to think I was socially awkward, but now, I think I'm just rude.

I've become an incressingly angry person, violence is the best therapy. I think I almost broke my hand today, I punched the a locker. My knuckles are bruised like hell.

I wear sweaters to bed.

I feel uncomfortable without a shirt on.

My body doesn't control my temperture too well.

I don't eat meat.

I don't sleep well.

I don't feel well.

I feel acomplished when my hands are dirty.

I wash my hands too much.

I think of people I hate too much.

I quit smoking.

I quit drinking.

I'm trying to clean up.

When I fuck up, I sit in my closet and listen to music, it feels like the only place the malignant spirits can't find me.

Whenever I get into a car, I dream about the driver falling asleep, or a semi wondering into my lane, or the steering wheel locking up, or the brakes going out, or a car running a red light and t-boning my side of the car.

When things get bad enough, I go running. Maybe I'm trying to run away from my problems. Or maybe I'm just trying to get hit by a car. I don't think road kill sounds like all that bad of a fate.

I was out running again, my usual route--to the library and back--I was about half-way through my third mile when the sudden realization came that I love you, and that I've loved you the whole god-damn time--and now is when I started walking--and then I decided that this hole inside me is gonna keep sucking the happiness away until your hand, or your ear, or your shoulder blade, or any part of you at all covers it.
I know what you want, and I'd be a disappointment it you settled this low. I'm still trying to figure out if God cares, if I can believe in words, if this thing called "love" is anymore then a word, but it's been so long since I felt something other then anger or hate or the lust to lay in my bed all day watching movies. Somehow you've figured it all out, I don't ever want you to hear me curse, I don't ever want you to see the disease growing across my brain. There is something here,
                                                                                                                                      find it with me.

mid-life.

Everytime I look in the mirror,
I watch myself die.

I watch my hair fall out
like the cigarettes i've been smoking
are actually working.

I see an old man
upset with himself,
for how he treated himself
and his lovers.

I see an old man peeling back his skin
like wallpaper,
letting the memories out
like ivy.

My hands are old,
my feet
tired.

I wanna go home,
so let me go,
please, let me go home.

Turn off the lights,
pick the feathers from my spine.

Open your mouth;

let me hear something,
let me hear something.

Paint a pretty picture across my chest.

Let the bloody lipstick paint my neck.

Scratch holes through my chest,
try to find my heart.

I don't think I'll feel anything.

Mustang.

"Bullshit."

"Actually I do love you, and I didn't fuck anyone Joel."

"Then what were you doing in the back seat of his car naked?"

Strap on yer boots.

new posts comin' soon.

Hopefully, Our lives will not end like a movie.

I started writing again.

I drink more tea then coffee now.
When I go out to eat, i still turn around like i'm about to ask you what you want.

I haven't been drinking lately.
I quit smoking.

It seems like i can't remember your eyes.
I remember your voice though, i wish i didn't.
I still remember mercy house coffee, i remember sitting out back watching you and your lover smoke, the coffee tasted like shit.

I've been reading too much lately.
I've been dreaming more then i've been seeing.
I've been singing; and I ain't sung a lick about you.

I've been looking for god everywhere, and in everything, i found a hole in him, bigger then the holes in my shoes, it's about the same size as the one in the middle of my chest, except there's a little bit of light inside mine, but i won't fall in, don't worry.  i won't even get close, unless that means  you'll grab my arms and hold me the way you did 'fore that beautiful little tree burnt down the forest before i hated the litlle blonde girl that ripped my lungs out, 'fore we rode that train south and paid change for our tickets,

I'm talking about when you were drunk in your basement,
and when we watched indie-gore-porn,
\ and when we sat atop Wallace,
and when we never kissed, 'cause that's not how or what we were,
 we were fiction, and we could control that, and i know we were just friends--I wouldn't want it any other way--but it seems like you were, and are the only one i've found to hold methat way, and i know it's mostly my fault, i got the two of you together,
and i know i don't feel comfortable when people touch me, but i think i'm getting better.

What i'm saying is that since we stopped being whatever we were,

"I've been lookin' for a chemical to make me feel a little more animal, and a little less real"-Joshua James

and that goes to you too LlamaGirl.

Is This You?

Colorful Earth

I'm expanding the garden.
I'm growing everything this summer.
I wanna say I'm doing it for you.

But this time, this time it's for me.

Colorful hands.

Past few nights i've broken down around three, past few nights i've really, really broken down.

A few weeks ago i woke up in a noose, my room was incredibly humid. What surprised me was how calm i was about it.

A few months ago i read Fight Club, it's the only book that isn't as good as the movie (sorry.) I'm convinced that when i fall asleep i become a different person.

A few years ago I woke up as a different person.

I haven't had a good dream in a long time.
I have nightmares sometimes. i have sexual nightmares sometimes.

I daydream a lot. sometimes I take shit too far and start thinking about getting published, or hiking, or catching a fish, or not being scared of ropes or heights or life or cars or people or being touched sometimes i think about how much worse life could get.

I dream about finding my connection. I dream about being a good writer and a good poet and a good musician and i dream about people wanting to hear me play.

I dream about this really incredible musician named Sayde, i dream about this blonde girl i saw a few months back, i think that my mind may have changed a few things about her, made her better then she really is, but, i don't think that's possible.

My Dearest

I have a photo of you taped to the back of my guitar.
I have a photo of you on the dash of my car, it's faded to black from all the sun.
I've used up all my film taking photos of you.

And then Jude hung himself.

I know I know, this post is way too long, but please, give it a chance.

It was December 31^st of 2011; I went to a small party to celebrate the shitty year that I had made it through and to welcome a—hopefully much better—new year. I was playing pool when the Moose walked in. The Moose was the sauve-tan-handsome-guitarplaying-rockclimbing-coffeedrinking-hipsterthateveryoneloves type. He gave me a small hug—the first we ever shared in our two year friendship—he told me “it’s been too long since we last saw one another” the strange thing was, that it had only been a week and a half. He joined in on our game of pool.

I saw some really sexy girls that night. I saw some girls wearing not nearly enough clothes that night, and I saw some girls that should have worn more clothes, maybe something to cover up their “husky” thighs.

I only saw a few GOOD women that night, one being a blonde girl who I met at a church dance several years ago, I secretly call her Beatrice, she is the type that spends too much time blogging and drinking tea and listening to Ingrid Michealson, and too little time learning how to drive her over-sized truck that nobody would ever think she would be the one to drive. We greeted with a long wonderful hug, we spoke softly of how we needed to have a cake-fight and a tea-party and ditch school to get a cup of coffee and sit her basement and have a REAL conversation, as she plays Ingrid Michealson covers on her ukulele.

We paused our game of pool and all danced when The Knife started playing. Jakob, techtoniked like nobody’s business, The Turtle danced better then anybody could ever imagine. A group of girls just stood socializing—feeling as though this was un-acceptable, I took a “party popper” and popped confetti into one of the young ladies “back-side”. Matt danced like he was Charlie Brown, Noah did a sexy wall stare, Jerry stood in the middle eating several slices of pizza at the same time. It was good, nobody can say that it wasn’t, nobody can say they didn’t have a good time. Smiles were wide all around, yet for some reason there was something missing, something horribly wrong with everyone, just the way they smiled and the way they all danced and the way they looked at each other and ate.

I walked back out to see Alex and his lover playing pool. His lover, whose name escapes me, wore an incredibly sexy dress that she almost looked too good in, but for some reason upon seeing her, I could only think “she’s gonna catch a cold”. Alex wore a blue Volcom hat and a blue, grey and black three/fourths sleeve. We greeted each other, I asked him who he had come with. He pointed over to the corner and said “Uhh Jaden, Bryce, Cade, Brady, Thomas an’ uhh, Sam.” I asked him where Jude was he told me he didn’t know, I didn’t think much of it; I guess I wish I had.

We sat in a circle and talked, we had good conversation. We talked about god and religion and abortion and taxes and the army, and for Christ sakes, we talked about love. It was awfully strange talk to have at a party. Somehow, speaking about things like higher powers and the power to create and destroy, while techno and electro blared in the other room, and the laughs and the bouncing of ping-pong balls and the quiet taps of the que ball breaking just made everything seem like it was gonna be okay, like this year really might be better.

It was around eleven when I just started feeling terrible, like something was wrong, I just started seeing things and imagining things, I started remembering things. I grabbed my coat and left. I sat on the top of a man-made cliff and looked out over the great Salt Lake City, It was just hours before that I layed on the sidewalk at the top of a hill and looked out over Utah Valley. I was wrapped up in an over-sized blanket, one ear pressed to the freezing cement, the other listening to the inhales and exhales of Penelope and her cigarette, listening to her voice that seemed to beg me to take a drag say “God, I love American Spirits” it was the same voice that later—after weeks of being silent—would say “Sequoyah told me not to talk to you, I’m sorry, but don’t stop being my friend—JOEL—don’t stop being my friend.”

All of us are lonely, every one of us. The couple in the corner cuddling and the two kissing on the dance floor and the kids in the back of the car with the foggy windows. We are all alone.

I walked back inside and asked a blonde boy—who thinks he won’t ever die, and who really does believe in a god, despite what he says. (His car was backed over by Beatrice), he climbs rocks and trees and takes photos and rides bikes and draws and dreams and always seems to have a pen—if he had a BLACK pen, he handed me one and said “give it back on Tuesday. I went back to the man-made cliff and began on my left forearm. “’And in the end, everything will be okay, if it’s not okay, it’s not the end.” But for Penelope Grey, it was the end, and for Penelope Grey, nothing was even close to okay”

Something like okay, I handed the blonde boy his pen and then they all just left. The Moose, Beatrice, the blonde boy, and all their friends.

I went and danced. Jerry was on his twenty-something slice of pizza, still standing in the middle of the floor. Alex was gone, Jaden was gone, Bryce and Cade and Thomas and Sam and Brady were all gone; Jude had never showed up.

I spent the hours between two and four listening to side three of Joshua James’ build me this album, and Joshua James’ Sing Songs ep and his The Sun Is Always Brighter album, I read some of my favorite poems, including What His Father said, by Anis Mojgani and so you want to be a writer by Charles Bukowski, I read some of my favorite parts of my favorite books. I took a shower (and used soap), I shaved, I cleaned my ears, I blew my nose and cut my finger and toe nails.

I felt awful, so I set my alarm for 6:40, and went to sleep.

I woke at 6:50, I was late for my short four-hour shift at the local grocery store. I felt like shit, I blamed it on the lack of sleep but I knew it was something else there was just something in my stomach I guess, there was something gone all of a sudden. It was like a hole had formed while I slept, and all my good expectations just fell into it, every feeling and thought of this is going to be okay, everything will be okay.

Church was at one. It was around 3:05—after Sunday school—that a beautiful young girl informed me that Jude had died the night before, I looked at her and calmy and replied: “bullshit.”

I walked home and got on facebook, I looked at Judes profile. I screamed in my head as I punched the X in the top right corner. I turned the computer off and went to my room.

I passed out around six that night; I blamed it on the lack of sleep.

Monday.

I went on a hike with my family, I don’t think I said more then ten words.

My father tried to convince me to go on a ride (mountain biking), I just kept saying, “I’m not in the mood pops.” When he asked why, I told him “because I’m just not in the mood pops.”

Tuesday.

I saw Alex, he was still wearing a blue Volcom hat and a gray and black and blue three/fourths sleeve.

I saw a collage of photos of Jude, It said Jude Steven Harris October 14^th 1994- January 1^st 2012.

I saw Jaden, I couldn’t help but ask what had happened. He spoke slow, and softly, in a tone that told me that this was the truth, and that Jude really was gone, That Jude really was dead. “Jude got drunk, like fucking smashed. He was—“ a kid who either knew what had happened and was trying to cheer Jaden up, or who had no idea what had happened and greeted him in a usual way with fake sincerity. “Not good.” We kept walking, it was a few minutes before the movements of his mouth made noises that were comprehendible as words. “Jude got smashed. He was with Savannah, and they, they got in this huge fight. Savannah won’t talk about it, but, I’m guessing it was huge, because around one he called me and asked me if I wanted to go smoke. I told him that he needed to stay clean that all of us, me, him, Alex, and Bryce, and everyone needed to stay clean. New years resolution man. I went back to sleep. And then Jude hung himself. I’m never gonna see him again.” He just kind of breathed for a second,  “His dad found him around 11:30 on Sunday mourning” I didn’t know what to say. We just walked together down the hall. “I’m never gonna see him again man.”

Wednesday.

The principal made an announcement over the intercom, It made me angry, it sounded like a form letter, probably because it was.

Friday.

I sat in an over crowded chapel. My hands shook like hell, I didn’t cry though, I still haven’t cried.

Men stood at the pulpit and talked about Jude, he was a funny kid. He was a happy kid, everyone was saying “nobody expected this” I feel like I should have. There was something in the way he looked at the world that should have let us all know that his heart was sick, that his soul was diseased. Jude was always cheering everyone up though, he was always putting others in front of himself. He was a SELFLESS person. When his mother started crying he would put on his stepfathers pajamas and stuff them with pillows and do a dance for her. He was a SELFLESS person.

I stared at a coffin, an arm around Jakob, he was always happy. He was into modern European electronic dance bands that used synth a lot. He cried the entire time. I just clenched a fist as tight as I could.

I had work that night, I was pulling in carts, when everything made sense to me, when I realized why Jude had done it.

In ancient Asia, Samurai performed a ritual called Seppuku, it was suicide by disembowelment. It was considered honorary. It showed a refusal to surrender, a refusal to die by the enemies sword. And that’s what Jude did, he saw the enemy coming, he saw the tanks and guns and bombs, and all he had was a rope.

He was in this labyrinth of life whose walls are built thick and high with pain and suffering, when god made us he also made a giant pile of shit for us to carry.

Jude did what I have always wanted. Jude did what I couldn’t.

Jude got out of this labyrinth, and I’m still stuck here. I’m stuck here talking to the sky like someone is listening. I’ve been thinking only of my self, I’ve been so angry at him for just leaving. Everybody has been saying that suicide is a selfish thing, and that Jude by doing it, was a selfish person, but Jude was SELFLESS. Nobody can say he wasn’t. I’ve been here thinking about how sad I am and how much I need Jude to be here, I’ve been thinking about how badly I want to go skate with him, and talk to his parrot and eat food and sleep at his house and wake up to the smell of the smell of the breakfast his mother made, which never had less then three choices for pancakes, I’ve been thinking about how badly I want to get my ass kicked by him in a game of skate and sit and watch movies and just chill, just be there. But I never once thought about how bad his life was, how lonely he was, how unhappy he was. How much he needed death. He needed death more then I needed him. I’m the selfish one, not Jude.

Maybe I’ll see him again. Maybe Jude is kickin’ it in heaven with his dad. Maybe after you die your body does just sit and rot in the ground, and that’s it; no after life. Maybe I won’t ever see Jude again, maybe I’m angry and maybe I miss Jude, but I’m HAPPY for the kid, and I hope he knows that.

But You Don't Belong To Me

"I told her that she looked pretty,
she said it was just the sunrise burning the curtains.

She asked me what i wanted to do,
I said 'You.'
She laughed and lit a cigarette.

We put on our clothes and boots and drove to the lake.
The ice had mostly melted.
We sat looking at the starving fish. She asked what I thought the fish were thinking, I just took pictures of Her.

She asked me what was wrong, i shrugged and took pictures.
She asked again, i just stared at her and said 'nothing, i'm fine'
She looked at me and stepped onto the melting ice and asked me what was wrong, i asked for her to come back, she walked out farther, and farther and i kept begging for her to come back. i started walking towards her begging for her to come back, i could feel the ice cracking, she yelled 'not till you tell me what's wrong.'
I stared at her and said

'You. i can't stop thinking about you.'

She asked what i meant.

"I'm thinking about you like cars think about being crashed, and trees think about being cut down.
i'm thinking about you like houses and books think about being burned. like ice thinks about melting and like the sun thinks about setting.
i'm thinking about you like shirts think about being un-buttoned.
I'm thinking about you like hair thinks about being cut. like your father thinks about losing his job.
i'm thinking about you like love thinks about logic, like rhymes think about making sense. like whiskey thinks about being drank and drunks think about drinking.
I'm thinking about you like noses think about bleeding.
I'm thinking about you like the holes in our shoes think about wet pavement.
I'm thinking about you like the holes in your heart think about the ones who held the shovels.
I'm thinking about you like trains think about stopping.
and this train takes miles to stop.'

She stared at me.

'You look pretty.'

Then She told me she loved me, stepped back and fell into the water, i ran to the edge. but she had already gone under the ice.


Would you like to see the photos?










She looks pretty, doesn't she?"

Fingers

Trembling.

"Whoever said it's worth it,

has NEVER

felt,

the way I do"

                   -Joshua James

The devil loves those that love.

Love is bullshit,it's hell, it's death.

Love is a GOOD woman sleeping with a dog.
It's dead weight on your sheets.
Love is torn off fingernails and dirty hands,
it's dragging a dead body from your car to your back yard.

Love is snakes with horns in a room with burnt out lightbulbs.

Love is over-rated, it's just tiny little rocks.
It's an anchor tied to your hot-air balloon.
It's a dead bird in your hands.

Love is God turning his back on you.
It's what pulls you closer and closer and closer to you
becoming some type of malignant spirit,
some thing that unmistakably resembles the devil.

Love is smoke breathing monsters that don't hide in your closet,
but hide in your bed.

Love is a black hole in the middle of you that sucks away everything it comes close to,
starting with your heart.

Love is magic carpets where naked blonde girls lay.

Love is empty bottles and cigarette butts, and beautiful brown hair, brown eyed shy girls who sit smoking and smiling and silent and just staring up at you as their head lays on your chest, nothing needs to be said, because love
                                                   is silent.

February 14, 2004

"Random thoughts for valentines day 2004: today is a holiday invented  by greeting card companies, to make people feel like crap.

I ditched work today, took a train out to Montauk; i don't know why. I'm not an impulsive person. I guess I just woke up in a funk this morning.

I've gotta get my car fixed.


It's goddamn freezing on this beech; Montauk in February, brilliant Joel.

A page is ripped out; I don't remember doing that.

It appears that this is my first entry in two years.

Sand is over rated; It's just tiny little rocks.

 

 

 

If only I could meet someone new; It seems that my chances of that happening are somewhat diminished, seeing that i am incapable of making eye contact with a woman I don't know.

Maybe I should  get back together with Naiomi, she was nice. Nice is good. She loved me.

Why do I fall in love with every woman i see who shows me the least bit of attention?"

 

 

(Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind)

My name is Joel Barish.

(artwork by Don Kenn, http://johnkenn.blogspot.com/)