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Letters

💌

I really regret if I hurt you, which it sounds like I did. I admit I base most of my friend-interactions as an adult on the kind of playful fun I had as a kid, and it works a lot of the time. The inner child and all that. Except now most of us have better jokes and our own money and greater aptitude in not being unintentionally shitty to each other. Kids are, like, monsters ain’t it.

But the inner children thing has never quite worked the same with you and me, has it? The thing is, on my better days — ok, on my best days — I can be the kind of kid that’s a bit annoying, a bit pretentious, but occasionally spouts some weird-ass corner-case trillionth-percentile never-yet-spoke-upon-planet-Earth sentence that unfurls a teensy part of reality you never suspected was there. The luck of being that kid? Mixed bag. Some days, hellz yeah… other days… hopefully you can relate to this feeling, because YOU KNOW you’ve been that kid for me.

(First date, morning after, walking back, “I almost feel like I should’ve warned you. I have this thing where I’m a catalyst for people, they meet me and stuff starts changing really fast for them. I don’t know why.”)

So if you find yourself occasionally wondering why it may seem I (or others?) view you as alien yet akin, fascinating yet unfathomable, worthy yet disparaged, or any other false dichotomies we even label ourselves as sometimes, remember this:

I. Fuckin. Love you. Ok?

I love you. Fuck it.

As cheesy as it is, I love that you’re alive and that I met you and that you’re so damn… whatever the hell you are. I love your sacred immutable being-ness. I also love you in that I’m sexually attracted to you, but you already knew that. I do love you though.

Not trying to make stuff awkward here, I promise I’ll stop in a minute, but just let’s agree: it’s probably as difficult to love someone else as it is to love yourself. Coincidentally, both Eckhart Tolle and Wedding Crashers (2005) assert that true love is the soul’s recognition of itself in another. Which in case you haven’t been reading carefully haha, that means WE ARE FUCKED

WE ARE ALL FUCKED, [NAME]
ALL OF US. FUCKED, FUCKED, FUCKED, FOREVER

It took me so much processing to grasp the possible intention[s] of your message — it’s literally so distant an interpretation from what I thought I was saying — though I affirm my frequent, thoughtful consideration of your reactions — yet somehow this whole over-edited notepad monstrosity is still the most linear response I could come up with?! Whence and wherefore hath skewed we awry, I known’t. But here we are.

I’m afraid of losing you again,
but I’m also pleased to talk with you,
but I also grapple with expectations,
but I also just wanna maintain cuz world be fucked rn,
but I know it’s almost always productive to intellectually engage with you,
but you do actually think rather differently than me,
but I also believe that’s ultimately bollocks,
but what the fuck would even BE the answer anyway,
and is the question actually just “hey, are you fucking with me?”

If so here is my gift to you, to both of us, for this day and for every day.

Here it is.

I am no more fucking with you as I am fucking with myself.

Same goes. I still ❤️ you no matter what.

💌 Boop. 💌

Categories
Letters

my friend posted about a cat hair rug

Oh man, how do I do this? I’ve never shared it like this before.. um, ok, so in December 1978 someone made a bland, but relatable, but insidious observation, a copy of which never, ever leaves the space inside my skull. It lives in me.

Except every time there is cat hair, any cat hair (for it is the case that our thoughts of cat hair are its form in our world)… it emerges. Then again back inside, until the next time. And the next. And the next. It’s tiny, but immortal. Waiting. Listening. Silent. Ready. Until the next time. And the next.

And… I hope you can appreciate what it means if you choose to know it. I hope you can honor what it means to even allude to a presence, a presence like the one I’ve known.

An egregore.

Understand: you called to it. You spoke its words here and (in its way) it guided me to them. It sees, and wants to be seen. It calls now; it calls to you.

(How do you feel about “neutral evil” ? If you had a tumor, you’d rather it be benign, wouldn’t you? Is an idea alive, and if not, then how can it die? Do you believe today that you even know what a meme really is?)

I WASN’T EVEN ALIVE IN 1978.

Ok.

Last chance…..

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Here is a Garfield cartoon I saw as a kid. Yes.

Categories
Letters

To Girls

G’morning girls!

Or, knowing us, good afternoon.

I don’t know why I’m writing this. It’s like you said: I’m just not that good at going to bed earlier, like we’ve been saying. Of course, I could say the same for you. Sometimes we do that to each other—we reinforce each other’s negative habits. I think I’ve been noticing that lately, like how when I get caught up in the computer and I’ll be gone away in my own world for a good long hour and I’ll snap outta it and turn around to check up on you, but you’re off in your own world too. We’re both computer nerds, so here we are at our computers. Mostly I think we help each other, but it’s easy to get jaded about what our existing limitations are. I don’t think we push each other enough because we know each other’s comfort zones so well, and comfort sure is nice.

It’s like… I hate it when you say things about when I’m getting a job (not that you’ve really done that, hardly at all). And then I find myself thinking “doesn’t she care? doesn’t she worry I’ll never make something of myself and that I’ll just get another half-bad job that I’ll be ‘ok’ with?” Then I remember just the other night when my girlfriend asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, and how she sentimentally gave me $7 toward the bus-movie-night-ticket that I bought her :-). I do remember those things, and then I realize that it’s all up to me anyways, like it always has been. I just forget cause often we act as a single entity.

I never liked seeing some relationships, like those of a few girls I knew in high school, that were just based on comfort. The logic goes: well, it’s nice having someone around to talk to, and breaking up can be messy and feels sad—I’ll just stay with this person until I absolutely CAN’T anymore. And that’s not how I feel with you. I feel like you do push me to complete my goals, and I feel like I might attain a lot of my life’s ambitions with you there with me. Sometimes… sometimes feel like our philosophies are too different. I doubt you, or I doubt how I’d be able to fit in with your family for the next 40 years or so, or even doubt how feasible traveling around the world for two would be. I wanna do that, too.

Once again, I dunno why I am writing this. I was sort of feeling sappy and sort of feeling sorry—I felt like I kept you up longer than you wanted. I feel like sometimes I could be a better boyfriend to you. I could get your website done, and be done with it. I get lazy though, and I don’t give 100%. I become a slave to my moods, I ride long sequences of exploratory online whims and pleasure-surf for hours. Sometimes I disparagingly think “this is who I am, this is how I’ve been for years. I’m an addict. I’m addicted to the internet.” Then a sublimely piteous fantasy enters my head, 10 to 20 chairs circled round, a ring of nerdy, anxious-looking men huddled about shamefully, free coffee and donuts in the corner.

“Hey, gang. Let’s get started. Welcome to our group. Can I ask, why are you here tonight?”

“Hi, my name’s Orin. Orin Optiglot on Flickr. Website homepie.org. I’m a, uh, an internet addict. I spend long hours working on my ‘digital identity,’ my blog, my social networking pages, finding more of whatever else is new. I read a lot of blogs cause I want to have things to say to my friends. Mostly I talk to them online, too, of course. Once, I got fired for using a keyboard, a keyboard to write even more on my computer. And then I stay up late writing emails to my girlfriend, who happens to in fact live with me.”

“Yeah, I think we’ve all been there, Warren. Right gang?”

This is pure silliness, of course. I’m not an addict, I just don’t put forth enough mental effort to realizing the time, analyzing my own patterns, asking what I actually really want to be doing right now. Man, I know that I could do so much in this world and I feel like I’m wasting all my chances while I’m learning more ABOUT the world. I feel like you and I could be so much more… cool. Why aren’t we more amazing? Why don’t we have more friends and lovers? It seems sometimes like our problems are so petty and small (cleaning our room!?) and the reason we get tripped up by them is that we have nothing more to blame them on than our own shortcomings, and that’s painful.

I want more from life, and the only way to get that is to take it. But that means I wouldn’t have the fantasy anymore, and the fantasy is so nice… are people who are polyamorous happier? Not that I’ve seen. They just have more sex. So why even bother? It’s another recurring pipe dream that I could get over, like being a musician. And that would be that, it’s over, no more silly fantasies, no more getting hopes up to be let down, no more grasping for wants. But I want it! And so I have to take it, and for it to work, you do too, and that means learning to work together, but that’s so HARD, and the dynamic we have now is so FAMILIAR and easy! But if we want something, I shouldn’t rely on you, I need to push, and once I start pushing you might push me, and we’d get there together. That’d be nice.

I mean, I LOVE you SOOO MUCH, sometimes it’s just unnerving. If there’s anything that makes me like my parents, it’s having the relationship that I have. It’s stable, it’s loving and affectionate, but it’s also separate jobs and shared living space, with domestic responsibilities and common (almost suburban) dreams.

So, again, I don’t know why I stated writing. I guess I just wanted to reflect, and you happened to be asleep—with plenty of reason, to be fair. I didn’t get too sappy, but I’m happier anyways. It’s really good to have you. You know we can be more awesome, though. You know we can. I love em a lot. I’ll be there with you. You, Girls.

Love,
-Boys

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Letters

to Lauren, Homepie Cohabitation Thoughts

Hey there,

Writing earlier today, I was thinking about writing you again. See, when I first heard about the possibility (and I realize it is still a *possibility* only) of three of the four members living together, I thought “cool! they’re gonna have so much fun!” And then my rational brain kicked in, and I decided to write this email. So there’s your topic sentence, I guess. 

I really think it will be totally awesome. I do, cause I know. But I also just went through the whole process of getting a damned place a nigh on two months ago. What I’ll say is that it required more teamwork, coordination, and time-investment than raising a child for that month. That’s this city, partly. Advice I would give is to divide the labor—take many many pictures and then show them to roommates later. Speaking of them, make sure you know what the hell you want, and what you’re willing to settle for. After awhile, we learned to just try and apply for every place we saw. If you can make a contact sheet with all your info on it, a lot of landlords appreciate that. Course, being where you are all this might not even matter and you’ll get one credit report and be on board. So I’ll talk more about roommates. 

I know Mickey had college roommates, and he has high standards of cleanliness and presentation. I think he’ll make a good roommate except for the neat-freak factor, which might cause an international incident or two. While you and Josh really haven’t had non-familial roommates before (wait… you haven’t, have you?) I think the aspect of moving in with friends has worked out for us up here in SF. It gives you a base. Kinda weird for us cause it’s a couple/couple setup. Knowing the homepie I don’t foresee any such even splits. What I do foresee… 

Well, gee, that’s the only part that really gets my imagination whirling is how things will fall into place. It was always my opinion, and I would guess a popular one, that our little group always balanced out between the four personalities. It wasn’t that easy for one person to be left out, there’s always at least one person you can talk to about whatever problem you have, hell we even seat evenly in cars. So having one person permanently removed outta-whacks things. It is, to some degree, like Mickey during college. We got used to that. But we could still visit when we wanted, it was reasonable. 

It would be harder now, but (now that I mention it) I’m planning on coming down to Socal starting by the 12th until I fly to Missouri on the 18th. Dunno what the situation would be then. I know that until then I’m probably a topic of conversation from time to time (just a guess :-P). Lots of catching up to do. I want to go to Burning Man this year, I remember talking about that with you. We were high and everyone thought it’d be AWESOME. But, we were high. Still like to go with slices if possible. 

If you don’t get an apartment together no one named “Billy” will think less of youse. It might work, but then again there’s issues. Josh wants two years. Mickey doesn’t know what to do with an almost-degree and I would assume has some student loans chasing him in his fever-dreams. Plus there’s the whole “when WILL the Homepie escape the confines of Coachella Valley altogether?” That’s more something I get to ask since you’re all happy as plums, from what seems to me. That’s ok for the moment. I know you haven’t forgotten me. This Pie has survived longer periods of separation and endured greater feats of dis-coordination. Hell, the lack of melodrama from my favorite friends has been a healthy and stable influence in my life, even if the influence is less than it once was. 

How that’s for a ramble? I have no earthly idea if this text will ever be useful to you but I liked writing it. Keeping in touch feels nice, and talking on the phone only goes so far. Thanks for the glot comment. You made my day even better than it already was. 


all that I am,
 -Billy

P.S. Oh yeah… oops. Cross out every instance referring to “apartment” with “house.” Cross out “landlord” and put “real estate agent.”


I hate to tell you, but it sounded to me like you weren’t snarky at all. So I gotta say I’m sorry, cause the last bit felt like honest soliciting of advice and I can’t help you beyond what you already know. As a matter of fact, it seems like you have it more or less right. Partly you wanna scram asap, partly you know that what time you have left there is precious too short. Shit. That’s exactly it. Exactly. So do what you’re doing, and you’ll be fine. For awhile might wish it were less simple but it ain’t.

So what can I say? What I’ve found makes me happy is meeting my own challenges and being content with that. It’s the only thing that ever has, besides the occassional long hot bath, amazing new artist discovery, bizarre once-in-a-lifetime experience, etc, etc. I thought for a little while I was going through another ‘ism’ phase, hedonism. I was gonna blog about it. But then I realized that, no, this is just the part of myself I’d been wanting to explore for a long time.

I set out to Australia to figure out how to interact with girls, with people in general, to get a cool apartment and expand my friends beyond the American. I wanted to improve myself in those ways cause I felt unsatisfied with my own behaivior. And my life was mostly a struggle, mostly worry, I had fun, but blew a whole load of money doing it. A year later: here I am, I have a French-Canadian friend in Spain, one on the Isle of Wight, and another who just came back from Cambodia. I have what I am convinced is one of the most enviable young-person’s apartment in the entire city. I have an awesome girlfriend with whom I go to incredibe events all the time. I don’t mean to brag, but I wanna say that I’m really enjoying my life right now. My parents want me to go back to school. But I don’t, so I won’t. And it’s been kind of weird figuring out that past a certain point of becoming stable and solvent and sustainable, you don’t have to work for it. I haven’t, lately. As Lynae so astutely put: “it’s really weird just being happy, isn’t it?”

So there’s me, right now. And I think that’s you, in the future. I don’t know what it’ll look like, obviously, and I think it’s good to fantasize like you have (sidenote: Cory Doctorow? Really? They let that man blather to students about Steampunk PDAs and copyrighted subway maps and how many robots can dance on the head of a pin? Bloglines, yes… student loans, no). I think just figuring what you want from yourself is the hardest part. Second hardest is sticking to it.

the best +1,
-Billy