how to disappear completely

i am going to be doing just that. disappearing to a remote town in the middle of nowhere to finish my book once and for fucking all. i have never been to this place before. i will be staying in a house with a stranger. he has a girlfriend in the city. i have a friend who lives in this town. he is an artist, and a writer, like me. he told me about his town and i invited myself there. the secret reason was to go cold turkey and go big sur stir crazy within a day or two but then i started asking about restaurants and watering holes, which lead to requesting nice wine and hash on the premises and fuck there goes the whole town knowing about my arrival. i wasn’t going to blog at all but my friend said there will be laptops available to me.

i DID want to be mysterious about it though and post a few random photos, saying nothing about them. then i wondered why the hell would i punish myself and not do the one thing i love most, blogging. maybe i felt like punishing you guys instead. maybe i am just one publicity stunt after another.

people always go away somewhere remote and say they’re going to write a book but then they never fucking do and before they know it they are back in the city again. please tell me to go fuck myself if i come back with no writings writ.

i remembered just the other day some new bit of information about myself and the history of raymi i had completely forgotten about i had a total A-HA! moment when it came to me. totally not that interesting but well, it’s something.

everyone asks me why raymi, why that name. why a name at all? why not my own? at the age of 15, close to 16, i was starting to haunt book stores, particularly chapters and i’d buy books like mental. spending hours in a book store consuming them, you learn a lot about marketing, selling, namely books. so i got the notion ok i’m going to publish a book and it will sell because i’m so fucking young it’ll be provocative and clever and have a hook (my young age) and somehow i’ll get it published. so i started writing THE LAST MINX and Raymi was the name i gave to the girl in the story, the narrator. that story is a piece of shit and i never finished it because i started blogging and partying. then i started writing another story when i moved into the crawford ghetto at age 19 which my friend craig says is awesome. maybe i should release it? my writing became a lot better, darker, matured. it’s really hard to write fiction, it’s so grandiose and pretentious. the way i write it anyway.

the “new” part of that is the reason why i was writing what i thought would be a book at the age of fifteen. i wanted it published by sixteen. then that became seventeen. then i didn’t feel any pressure anymore because i knew i’d hammer out a book someday. i told myself and whoever would listen at the time of 19 that it’s ok to be a complete mess dirtbag (experimental) drug addict drinker as long as you are writing (doing something creative, producing anything, painting, music etc) and you don’t let your brains or your talent go to waste. that little piece of sanity and common sense of mine always kept me in check. can’t say the same for other people. i justified debauchery with twenty pages of good writing every few days, combined with blogging.

now today what do i think about all of this?

i feel lost and i feel happy. i feel good. i’m ready to go at any moment, whatever adventure lays next for me right around the corner i’m up to it. i am a believer in positive thinking but even more than that i know you actually have to DO something to make things happen. i border doing and being. my being makes me a doer. i have to find that short story. this short story i read in grade six or seven. i kept (stole) the book from school. i repeat the last sentence in it a lot. i have blogged it. anyway, the point is there is no point. do something, or just be. if you be, then you have no right to complain if nothing happens for you ever. you have to try and you have to be better than everybody else and you have to put effort into being special. if everyone has their own social media tech empire and they’re all talking boring obsessive nonsense over twitter, what’s the point of what they’re building? does everything have to end in ads and impressions ugh so boring.

my brother just told me he was happy and it made me very happy to hear that. i spend a lot of time being selfish i feel, self-indulgent, i felt happy that at least one of us is happy right now. slight sting of jealousy? maybe. to feel happy about something that has absolutely nothing to do with you and your miserable life. so simple and pure.

the older i get the more i realize how much i cherish my family and my friends. it’s like, i get to spend time with these people whenever i want and i can buy them things and tell them about my ridiculous life and they actually like me? who made the rules how is this so good?

i am so high strung it’s offensive sometimes. takes me a while to loosen up and mellow out. the city can make you bananas. i am tired of dating and meeting freaks. i have no time for dating or rather the time it takes online interviewing these people and narrowing it down while half of them are aggressively pushing to meet and fighting you, ugh, then you finally select a guy and insert him into your weekly schedule if you can, you meet, he sucks. then you start all over again. i am picky and i am lazy and i am busy. i changed my profile header to i am going to die alone ughhhhh.

i regale friends with some dating tales and they are just so dearly entertained. living vicariously through my depression. at least someone is enjoying the show.

i have recently been accused of being a player. sometimes you don’t know your own strength, your charms, yes thank you for noticing that i am a catch, we’re just not compatible. i’m sorry to have to seinfeld you. you can’t force a match. you can’t make me like you by harassing me and insulting me. i was testing to see if you were cool about things. you aren’t and now you are scaring me. we could have been friends and took it (way) back a little to normalcy but shit got clingy. how am i to be held accountable for this? how am i a player? of course you keep options open and keep the lines of communication going until you decide to be exclusive. i never saw anyone else, had no time for it, but still accused and attacked about having my profile open. i’ve heard about this happening before, it’s pretty mental when it happens to you though.

anyway, yet again i am fully turned off of internet dating. he said i was talking to his friend online too. does he give a name? and so what’s the big deal if i was? just way too much drama. if i can leave my ex fiance and be man enough to take the guilt and pain of ending a five year relationship and break an engagement while taking attacks from the internet then why should i spare some guy i have only been on two “dates” with. you tell people you’re kinda finding your dating legs here and they still push and push when the secret code they’re supposed to read between the lines of is i. am. not. interested. in. you. in. that. way. i mean we coulda been cool but no, now we cannot. not after all those insults and accusations. still unbelievably pissed. so now in the stacks of unread messages i have, some guys actually seeming pretty decent, there’s apparently a mole planted. he might be fucking with me but whatever. i can’t trust any of them now thanks to this fucking guy.

he also has footage of me baked, singing and topless. great!

i don’t even care anymore. i told another ex if he ever released video of me being slutty he will only aid in the advancing of my career so do whatever. MIND TRAP.

there’s an important foodie event on the weekend i should stick around for but, i just can’t take any more city. i hmmed and hawed over postponing it by a week. i know if i keep delaying things it will never happen so i’m making it happen. i just see every single day/week playing out the exact same if i don’t piss off now.