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jaxxonpollux · 6 years

Text

notes for vivien during her whatever of whatever v3

hey pee brain

writing here makes me feel less bitter, and it helps me maintain some level aloofness i think. moreso than calling you twice a day and pining away like a ghost wife that passed away out on the cliffs, the moors or whatever, waiting for her sailor soldier husband to return. i know you're a sweetheart but sometimes you're a real pain in the butt too. a real heck and a half. and i'm not like, dumb. i know what busy is and i know phone calls can still be squeezed in even then, but business and time are never really the problem when this stuff happens. i know i don't make myself very easy to talk to, being a sassy emotional sack of old balls and all that, so i wouldn't expect you to either. just enjoy being where you are and living a big life again and i'll watch your cute butt as you leave the room.

that's like a real mad men thing to think and say huh? "boy oh boy i sure do love to see her leave a room!" even when you dress it up and disguise it, it still sounds piggish. something joan would narrow her eyes at, or at the very least give like that phony 1960s "i'll take that as a compliment, you dumb pig man" smile.

i don't know why i feel bitter. god why do i have my ceiling fan on? i'm freezing, it's been in the 50s here. anyway, i don't know why i feel bitter. it's a gross feeling, it really does make me feel like a ghost wife, like just haunting you from the past and trying to drag you back into the deep black water. very selkie actually. it's loneliness doing its evil things and whispering in ears and gnawing on hearts and making me reach out my ugly haunted hand and trying to either have you pull me out of the afterlife or pull you back in. i just spelt gnawing as "knawing," and it doesn't say that it's a typo, is this some secret alt word i've discovered? some special 4am word?

knaw

Verb

(third-person singular simple present knaws, present participle knawing, simple past and past participle knawed)

Archaic spelling of gnaw.

Verb

(third-person singular simple present knaws, present participle knawing, simple past knawed, past participle knawn)

Eye dialect spelling of know.

what the hell is eye dialect? it sounds like when people talk with their eyes "her mouth says no, but her eyes say YES"

"her mouth says no, but her eyes say KNAW"

or basil's wife perhaps, "oh i knaaawr." you gotta slap an r at the end there because they're british. anyway

writing gets real out of hand real fast at 4am y'know. and i'm writing this on my phone too, what kind of sick fuck writes his autobiography on his phone? that sounds like the kind of thing b would do, but i don't have any business knowing the kinds of things b would do

is there anything i actually wanted to say? i've been buying and drinking wines like a madman. i drank half a bottle in an afternoon when i was trying a new wine and my mom goes "that's a LOT of trying!" like not really tho. wine is a trap cuz you gotta drink it freshly corked or else you're fucked. you gotta share wine, i'm always trying to coax my mom into a glass or two so i don't feel stupid drinking it all by myself. i feel like how my mom used to describe my grandma (on my dad's side), taking her wine medicine every day because "it's healthy" or whatever. i really don't drink like that. i actually forget that there's alcohol in there because it never occurs to me. i've still never been drunk. i was possibly tipsy when we had two bottles in miami and we were sitting out on the smoking bench together, but even then i was just slightly louder and happy.

i've tried merlot, pinot noir, pinot grig, rose, sauvignon blanc, "laurel blanc," chardonnay and i've got a riesling on the way, stashed someplace. i feel such like a stereotypical college early 20s girl when i drink wine, like hmmm like the thing where they order fancy tasty alcoholic drinks at bars and stuff? where they can't taste the alcohol at all and get wasted really easily? not that i'm over here getting wasted, but i mean that i'm picky about flavors, like sometimes wine to me is just bad-tasting grape juice that burns a little and makes you want to burp. i popped open a chardonnay yesterday and the intense oaky "full-bodied" flavor kind of offends me. at the end of the day, i'm still just a real soda jerk at heart, like i wanna drink things that taste good. sugary snacks and orange juice and stuff. sarsparilla. wine tastes bad in comparison to most other beverages (like, let's just be real here for a second, all alcohol tastes worse than a sprite), but makes me feel more sophisticated is all, and i already drink bitter black teas to fill that niche in my life.

i'm more just drinking all these different wines to take a peek into a life i don't live, i think. try to understand people i know that drink wine a little better. i wrote about this before, getting to know you through the back door? watching abfab and fawlty towers and reading swamplandia, following in your footsteps, inching my way through the path you hacked through the jungle. like that scarjo alien movie (another example), living in your skin. why is it so impossible for me to talk about getting to know you without diving into some creepy stalker persona? i don't get it. i must be naive to my own creepiness. i have been called "a creeper," but only once in middle school, and i don't think i was doing anything creepy at the time. just standing somewhere looking sad and emo probably. people just called each other creepers back then left and right. it really is a hurtful term, considering i still vaguely remember it

anyway, i have no idea what you're doing in new york, why you're doing foot stuff with strangers, who you're hanging out with, how long you'll be there, why you can't ever think about me or call me or have any space in your life or in your thoughts for me and i have no idea why everything is so difficult and i have no idea about divorce or wine or new york in general really. and i'm just always over here baking 50 loaves of bread and 600 chocolate bavarians and dumping rainbow sprinkles and maraschino cherries into bowls and putting 350, 850, 1100 pieces of flourless chocolate cake on plates over and over again and checking instagram every time i walk through the halls because it's the only way i know you're not dead. and i know you're awake at 4am when i'm walking into work and i miss you and think of you then, when we're the only souls up at that hour, but then you get like 7 likes on your 4am instagram post and i realize that's actually bullshit and yeah. i'm a dumb jealous bitch, but only like, a little bit, and every person that comments on your instastuff i just imagine that it's somebody that lives in new york and is in your entourage and is more important to you and more interesting than i ever was and i should really just keep dumb mouth shut about everything.

i warned you i was a boring boy, and i warned myself too. you're out there living big again, cool people dragging you into cool big city cocaine club experiences, swapping stick and pokes and fur jackets and call girl stories, writing novels and shooting music videos and hosting parties where you get to avoid your guests and be in the vip back room... (my imagination is endless you see!)

and i'm like a dumb ducking small town country hick boy pining and sending senpai-notice-me pictures of rice krispy treats as if it's anything to sneeze at (it isn't), pretending like my baking or my pictures of clouds or cats is worth anything in your life, because i'm just fumbling and grasping at straws and presenting them to you, like hey look at these straws eh? pretty neat eh? wanna go out with me? i feel like that picture of that kid holding a bunch of roses out to rihanna. a reference which is apparently too dated to show up on google images, grumble

speaking of baking, i went to this japanese bakery the other day to inquire about a job opening and the girl there, well first of all it's really cute because all the girls there wear brown berets and brown overalls, but anyway the girl there said they have TWENTY bakers working there. TWENTY. i keep telling people this hoping for a reaction because apparently only a baker understands how bonkers this is. a small mom and pop bakery with TWENTY bakers. i mean, their stuff is pretty nice, and they do a wide variety of things, but i work at a place with three bakers and we make food for hundreds of people every day.

what else do i have to say, hmmm... i feel like i dropped the ball on the whole self-loathing thing really early, like those couple of paragraphs up there are really more of a finisher but whatever. i'm just rambling, just ranting, just stream of conscious jack kerouac jacking myself off and it's honestly just fine, i don't gotta organize this any particular way do i? nah

but like, don't take any of this stuff too seriously (but do if it makes you like feel really bad for me and miss me or whatever heh), everything is a fleeting thought or feeling nowadays, some times are better than others. some days i text you simply because i wanna share something with you and i'm thinking of you, real simple, and i don't even think about how dumb and bitter i can get, but other days i just want to give up on you and crawl back into my haunted lake and stop trying and kill myself or hurt myself or at the very least make desperate phone calls to people i used to talk to and make myself feel relevant again. but eh. what a soap opera. i like how you think YOU'RE crazy when i'm like just a pile of flesh filled with howling, howling winds, like i'm a real fucking whirlwind in here, a real wuthering heights crazy animal sex energy in here. haunting away from my creaky old miasma mansion. i'm just full of sludge, i'm the swamp and trump never drained me, turns out.

anyway, like i said don't take it too seriously, i'm ok. i'm only flexing muscles, really, but i do miss you, and probably will forever, because i don't think we'll ever be Together Like That. which is fine but it also sucks. "don't you forget about me"

hey also if you happen to read this prior to halloween, or at all, send me some songs for a playlist i'm putting together for no particular reason. i listen to it at work. i've been in a real halloweeny mood even though i never have time or any reason to dress up. but i do all the other stuff, i carve pumpkins and wear candy corn socks and do generally love the season. nobody ever sees it, but i do love the season, i just never share my love with anybody the way i wish i could. just don't send like, the marilyn manson version of i put a spell on you or whatever, unless it's really good, i didn't actually look into it.

sincerely,

from out here on the moors,

the other brian

p.s. just in case new york actually really sucks for you right now and is really not fun or exciting and you are actually feeling very rotten and lonely, i do aplogize profusely! my imagination runs too fast for me to catch up sometimes. just always missing you and always beating myself up. i hope i don't ever rub you the wrong way. https://youtu.be/UDhmnoBVYlQ

p.p.s. 11am now, just wanna say i stand by this big black chunk of coal letter, except i didn't want it to be quite so angry and bitter. your business is your business and i'm silly for assuming i need to be included, as per, i'm really not as desperately invested as i come off. i feel stripped of a friend maybe, but not helpless hopeless careening into a black hole or anything. stay warm stay safe, i'm here when you need my brand of friend again, but i'm gonna make a concerted effort to stop prying. xo

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