happy birthday captain bellini!
Author Archives: raymi
Here is an excerpt from my book which will be available in a week’s time.
I don’t know how I should I finish this book because I don’t know what is next for me in life. Will I clean up my act? Will I get a job, or my driver’s license even? Who knows.
You know that Jack Kerouac went his whole life on the road writing his alcoholic what-have-yous and he never even drove or had his license. Isn’t that amazing?
I know that inevitably I will obtain my license, I just have this terrible test anxiety now, it runs in the family. My mom didn’t get her license ’til she was much, much older.
I know that one day when I have a car and something goes wrong, I’m just going to drive and drive and drive until I am in the desert, until my hair dries out and turns golden white, until I am wearing cowboy boots and listening to crackly static on the radio and I have a bottle of scotch whiskey between my legs, until I reach that tiny payphone and call you up and tell you to meet me by the cactus and the lagoon, until you are the last voice I hear before I am gone.
You know, stupid romantic bullshit like that.
I want to tell you something insightful and I want to leave you with some hope about me and where I am going to next and if I will tell you about it when I get there, but I sometimes worry that once I finish writing this, I will have nothing left.
I can’t go off on another fucked up adventure and lose my mind and become a whole new person with new visions and experiences. This depression I have, this is what I have, this is all I have it feels and this book is like my memoirs I think.
Memoirs at twenty-two. That sounds like a good title.
Marketable Depression, Lauren White.
I was by the fridge in the kitchen when it happened.
The phone on the wall next to the fridge rang, and so I went to pick it up when suddenly the ice maker began spontaneously chugging out cubes and I thought that was odd. Then a cupboard door opened by itself, revealing the dishes inside–and then the power in the overhead light surged. The game show playing on the countertop TV then suddenly stopped and the screen displayed color bars with a piercing tone and then for maybe a second there was a TV news anchorman with a map of Iceland on the screen behind him. I said “hello” into the phone, but it went silent and then the flash hit. A plastic Simpsons cup from Burger King melted sideways on the counter; the black plastic frame of the TV softened its edges and began dissolving. I looked at my hand and saw that the telephone was turning to mud in my palm, and I saw a bit of skin rip off like strips of chicken fajita. And then the pulse occurred. The kitchen window blew inward, all bright and sparkling, like tinsel on a Christmas tree, and the blender crashed into the wall and the Post-it notes on the fridge ignited and then I was dead.
Life after God, Douglas Coupland
just watched the best movie ever. a love song for bobby long. watch the trailer here. it doesn’t exactly do it justice. fuck i actually feel like writing now. rent it, VOD it, whatever. just see it.
a couple came by to look at the apartment and fil forgot to call and give me a 15 minute heads-up so i showed it to them with black eye make-up halfway down my face and crazzy hair and bad breath, oh well. not to mention ten million empty beer and wine bottles stacked high in the corner of the kitchen. then the chick asks to look in the fridge, great. nothing but condiments, tallboys and martini cocktail something-or-others and left-over chicken wings.
and now i am awake.
i should totally be dreaming about grade 5 right now and fluorescent running shoes and waterslides.
phildorkynist.
i want to join/start a movie club for old ladies and we will only watch fluff movies like before sunset and disney movies starring eddie murphy and we will get together once a week and one day out of the blue i’ll stand up during our discussion circle and talk a whole lot of shit about everything we have ever viewed until they’ll be all, “well, i never…” and i’ll be like WHAT?! YOU NEVER SAW A GOOD MOVIE IN YO’ LIFE BEEEE-ITCH! THAT’S RIIIGHT! THIS CLUB IS OVER!
then i’ll go snap snap snap with my fingers in the letter ‘z’ in the air and violently flip a plastic chair over.
these are the things i think about in the bath.
deep down i love shitty movies. and music. and tv shows.
me and sarah are the best.
