EXCERPTS FROM MY LIFE

Selected journal entries from my crazy life

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11. 11

Sunday, February 7, 2016,

1:03 am, Marin County, (Mill Valley)

- I'm sleepless again. I'm sad. Is this depression? What is depression? Is it when one is lacking something? Maybe a chemical imbalance. Maybe a void that needs to be filled. A missing puzzle piece. She lives across the bay in the city. I can see the San Francisco skyline from my back porch and all I wonder is what the hell is she doing in that mountainous concrete jungle. All the buildings and hills concurred by concrete. The trolly cars dinging there wet bells in the misty fog, and the fog it rolls over and devours all of it and the city goes into hiding agin, under the vail. The city never really reveals it self completely. She's always hiding something. She wears a dress that hangs to her knees and she slides it up higher and higher up her meaty thighs and just before she gets there, the dress falls down again. What color are those panties? Are you even wearing underwear? She always keeps you guessing.

- I woke early this morning and looked out across the bay. The city was shinning in the early morning sun. The skyline was shrouded in golden light like a city built for Gods and queens. I remembered Los Angeles. That crazy town. It's such a terrible place, I have to hate myself for liking it. Everyone thinks that there movie stars; Botox and sports cars. I do miss driving to Malibu and body surfing at Zuma beach. I miss strolling down Venice beach with a buzz and thinking I was Jim Morrison. I miss driving through the Wilshire corridor with all the high rise apartments and Beverly Hills with all the handbags and diamonds. I miss cruising down the sunset strip with all the night clubs and Lamborghinis. Hollywood boulevard on a hot night with the windows down, driving slow and just checking out the scene. Mulholland drive as the sun is setting, the sad valley on one side with all the dreamers and the city on the other side with all the depression that comes with to much money. Los Angels is a place that lets you dream big. You can be anybody or anything you want in that town. I've moved on though. I've always hated that saying that money can't buy you happiness. I've always hated it. It's true though. When you spend time in Beverly Hills one thing that is constant is angry unhappy and incredibly fake people. It's the saddest thing to see, people with such means acting out in such ways. The royals hide behind high fences, tinted windows, and expensive sun glasses. They fear interaction with other humans and the outside world. Money creates misery.

- I lived in South Lake Tahoe before moving to LA. I miss Tahoe as well. I miss waking up to four feet of fresh snow on the ground. A perfect excuse to stay inside all day and drink dark, heavy beer by a fire. Smoke some weed and watch movies. A pot of slow roasting chili on the stove. I loved to dip bread into the chili all day just to keep me going. When the house would become to hot I would step outside and watch the snow fall silently to the ground and sip dark beer. It's strange when a heavy snow storm is raging and you walk outside and it's completely silent. It's like watching a war fought with silenced guns. When the chili was ready I would eat my fill with another dark beer then I would pour myself a glass of Fernet and write a bit to let it breath and then I would sip between paragraphs then I would pour another glass and sip between sentences then my writing would become sloppy so I would give it up, and then, if it was one of those sad nights, if I was writing about her or thinking about her, or even if I got that beautiful Chilean girl on my mind, the one I met at the party up there in those lonely mountains, one cold night, she had light blue eyes and Curley dark gold hair and soft freckles, if I was thinking about her too, I would pour a tumbler of whiskey on ice or if it was snowing, I would use a handful of fresh powder and just sip in silence for some time. One thing I learned about living alone up in those mountains is that being alone is the hardest thing a man can do. As much as I hate most humans and being surrounded by them, no man can stand being truly alone. It breaks you. It will define you as a man, living alone. I do miss that beautiful South American girl I met up in those mountains. Those soft freckles. Glass empty, another handful of snow. Whiskey. Those soft fre....... Alone.

- The same way I felt when I moved to LA. How the fuck did I get here? I took another sip of my coffee. The city was shrouded in that golden light still. I moved without thinking. I drove over the golden gate from Marin and I was in the city. Maybe I would see that girl I grew up with. She lived here somewhere. She has pink lips, rosy cheeks, dark blue eyes and golden blonde hair. I parked by fisherman's wharf and walked to the Buena Vista cafe to look for my grandfathers picture. Legend has it that when he was a kid (around my age) (I'm 24) his irish hurling team traveld from Los Angles up to San Francisco to play the local club here. They took photos of the teams

And they some how ended up on the wall at the Buena Vista. Now I was raised in an Irish family and one thing about Irish people is that they talk a lot of shit. A ton of shit. But, I've heard that his picture is on the wall from the older generation and they all swear it to be true so I step into the cafe. Everything is wood paneled. The place was packed. Shoulder to shoulder. I turned around and walked out. I guess the legend is still true by word of mouth. I'll believe them for now... I walked up Columbus Ave. into north beach were all the Italians live, or used to, now if I had to guess it probably all techie hipsters with north face jackets and Birkenstock's. It's one of the most beautiful parts of the city. I walked into the famous Molinari deli and got a sandwich and soda. The place was old

School. There was Italian goodies on every shelf and cured meats hanging from the ceiling. I sat out front at one of the metal tables and ate slowly and watch the people drift by. It was a good time but all I kept thinking about is how much better it would be with sliced cheese and a nice bottle of red wine. Then a glass of Fernet after the meal to aid digestion and warm the soul. It's amazing how a glass of fernet can warm the soul like that. This dam sobriety thing was driving me nuts, and where could that girl possibly be? We don't talk much any more but I think she loves me. I think I love her. I pulled my phone out and scrolled to her contact. Call her call her CALL HER! A drunk bum stumbled by and leaned on a pole just across the side walk from me. He looked at me for a moment. I peered into his dark lonely soul. He was the heart of the city, of the state, of the world. All the sadness and loneliness of humanity. All the suffering and anguish. I saw all the lonely nights he spent in allies with a flask under his cold shivering arm. He pushed himself from the pole and regained his balance and stumbled on down the sidewalk, to the next pole. I threw my trash away and walked back to my car with my hands in my pockets. I drove over the Golden Gate Bridge and out of the city with the radio off. Silence. The void likes silence. The void likes drugs. The void likes alcohol. The void likes money. The void needs loneliness.

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