i made you a cd

life has become a series of laying in bed and avoiding.
my little brother told me, through the anonymity of instant messaging and horrible spelling, that he was afraid to deeply examine his life. that he was afraid of what he might find.
I say, welcome, jon, to adulthood in the Padgett tradition.
Welcome, pillbox, to next-to-my-computer.
Welcome, enablers.
Welcome, social butterflies.
I will tell you when to go.
I will not tell you to go.
I will say, through drunken veils, through strange i-missed-you-but-don't-care-about-you-anymore conversations.
Syracuse, my humiliation follows me everywhere in you.
Syracuse, I do not belong here or anywhere,
but especially not here,
Where Korean business men can say "adios," after buying me expensive wine.
When a mix CD is a threat (and well enough)

and here, a drink to
THE FUCKING CHAMPS.

thank god for great guitar rifts, or
else.

I went to Philly

Dear Thunderclouds:

you with your fervor eyes you. you man siren. this time I am listening. I will make up for that day you slept in the grass with Onyx. Just for a moment. I will come back to my lonely life quietly. I will wait for the next time the rain sneaks up behind me and then I will think of you.

* * *

List A

• I'm doing this as a list because that makes me feel better
• which leads me to my next thought, or, first thought
• I'm thinking about going into therapy. Can I do that? I don't know. my weird control issues and compusliveness/neurotic behavior are starting to really impact me.
• also, I haven't been eating as much (thank god)
• also, it is so hard to get out of bed these days!
• plus, there is this constant humming in my head that sounds just like the buddha box but that I think may be my blood pressure
• Onyx never looks at me like that anymore
• forget that, she just did.
  
• maybe just needs to go out?
• sometimes Phill says exactly the wrong thing
• also, I have a problem where I can get sick of someone, forever, in just an instant
• there is nothing they can do to change that.
• I'm making friends.
• I'm so fake.
• I can't make friends, not really. I can pretend I'm making friends but I just
• get so paranoid that they know, that they can see I feel absolutely nothing about them
• there comes a time when I slip, and forget to smile or laugh or listen
• or get out of bed and meet them somewhere.
• and I never call back.
• Sometimes, I'll talk. And it feels hollow, like, do I even know if what I'm saying is true?
• I just listen to myself talk, and
  
• it's so stupid. I say stupid things.
• My ambitions are empty because really I don't have any.
• I am motivated by fear, or anger, or paranoia, or revenge. To prove something, even though no one is ever looking.
• I'm sure there are people who think I act crazy as a mask,
• but it's not! it's the part where the mask slips a little.
• In my head, I am just running down one long hallway,
• slamming doors.