5.3.97

Preface:

My final night here, for a bit. Yeah, I was supposed to be moved on the first, but I decided the slumlord could suck a fart outta my asshole. I'm sitting in my room, empty except for this computer and part of my bed, listening to the sounds of my tapping keys bounce off empty the walls along with Social Distortion on Real Audio. I'll be outta here tomorrow. I still have nowhere to go. My stuff will be kept in a friend's house. The couch tour of Salt Lake City begins, again. I had to unexpectedly kennel Rollins this afternoon. I was stressed beyond belief and he sensed it. It made him anxious and disturbed much like his master. After they carted him back to his cage I sat in my car in the parking lot and cried. Putting him aside, even for a couple of weeks, hurts more than the permanent loss of any woman I've known.

So, back to DMG

DV8

My friend Chet is a popular DJ at a local radio station. He knows what's going on in my life. My writing gets passed around the office, and we talk. "So, Warren," he says in his own cynical way, "things just aren't going the way they were supposed to in life?"

No, I say, this was not in the brochure.

"You'd think a place to sleep was part of the deal, wouldn't you?"

Yeah, I laugh. Silly fuckin' me. What was I thinking?

U2 was in town tonight. If I could trade places and be in Ireland , I'd be there and say it's not far enough away. Some 30,000 people went to it, mere blocks away from my home. Killed the bar, because after it was over it literally took hours for people to get out of the damn parking lot.
Nothing against U2 per say, but I'm so fucking sick of hearing about this show from every conceivable front I cannot wait for this to be done and gone. The only good thing about is that Rage Against The Machine is opening, which is totally ironic - my friend promoted Rage last summer at the only venue he could find of the needed size, which turned out to be the fairgrounds of a small town a little south of here, and my God, what a stir it caused. Being a slow news day, local TV had it as headline story. This quiet little Mormon community was convinced it was the second coming of Satan. Rednecks lined the highway exit in their pickups looking for gangs, auto dealers cleared their lots and family owned businesses closed hours early to avoid those "unsavory youths." The news anchors treated it as quite a serious issue at the time. But, lately, they talk about U2 and openers Rage with beaming, pearly whites. Go figure.

I've had one of the worst days I can remember.

Home

It's me, this computer on it's stand (which is stripped bare), an empty bed frame where I will soon sleep if I quit hitting this Jim Beam bottle. A lot of trash in the back room. And on top of the headboard of the bed sit two purple wine glasses, spotted with Aztec moons and gold stars. I washed them this afternoon. They've been sitting there for months. They belong to Shannon. She brought them over not a few nights before I lost her and we drank Merlot and watched Casablanca. It was a beautiful evening. After the movie, the sex was unusually awkward It was the first early sign. The glasses have been there ever since, untouched.

They are the last part of her I have. I have been contemplating taking them over to her as a reason to say goodbye (she lives right across the street from me). I've also thought about leaving them in front of her door with a daisy crossing the rims. That's her favorite flower. Or, I could keep that part of her for myself forever or until I decide to smash them into some fireplace I may someday have as purging. I haven't figured out if that's fair or not. I'm beyond confused. I can't think straight anymore.

But I want her to know how much I miss her. And how much I will miss her. How much our short time meant to me..

This is something she does not want to know. Doesn't need to be reminded of, anyway.

I haven't cried in years, decades maybe.. I cried twice today. I miss everything important to me.

In the meantime, I'll be sleeping on Martina's couch, or wherever I find myself that evening. I'm going to set up the computer at Chris's home so I can come by and check up once in a while. Rollins will be in the kennel as little as possible, which currently seems to be not much (though Margaret is convincing me that she will take care of him... which is a whole 'nother story, her new boyfriend is not happy...)

So, bye for now, those few of you that actually read this. With any luck, this will only take a couple of weeks (unless I murder the slumlord who's been running around the house for the past couple of days and will not even respond to my semi-friendly hellos. I'm thinking jagged knives...?)

Thanks for listening, being there, etc...

Fuck.

wwood