Day Twenty Five: Pray Tell

i've been taking pictures of things i've found in the basement, things so old they make my parents seem young. after the snapshot, i throw the item away. destroying, history, that's what i'm doing. something about it seems very pure. when i go into antique shops and thrift stores, i take pictures of the clutter. i try to hide my camera so they shopowners won't see. something about it seems very sexual and dirty.

i think i've fallen in love with film. i don't know why, but i did. i miss my SLR and would never sell her for a million bucks. sorry. digital almost makes me sick. my digital not yours.

i kept browsing through tiny vices, a pictures website. i can't look through them fast enough.

i taught myself to play the piano riff in the song hurt. five e's, five d's, three csharps, 3 c's. i think that's about right. something seems like it's missing. can't figure out the guitar. i hate the song anyway. its the most emo thing ive ever heard. everytime i listen to it my heart breaks, not for myself, but for trent and for the poor, miserable world.

i drove to downtown meredith to visit some old shops there. most of them are built right into houses. people lived and sleeped and all that there, maybe they still do, but now it's antique shops and thrift stores. i had no cash and they didn't take debit or credit. however, the manager / homeowner of the thrift store let me take the books and postcards i wanted. i'm supposed to go back and pay her 80cents. she wrote down my debt and taped it on the register.

i will pay it. my reputation is on the line. otherwise that sticker will stay there for all eternity, quoting that i did not pay a mere 80 cents for some stupid items. i got a new orleans tour book from 1997 that claims to highlight the weirder side of the city. i kind of want to visit there and there ain't no way i'm taking a boring generic guide book.

i also got some postcards from places i haven't visited. i will send them off, a paragraph explaining how i wasted a stamp. killed a tree. but love keeps.

3 and half years ago I emailed myself. I never read it until now. the email said:

kkmhbjh bj nbjhjj

i ran around my house tearing pages out of an old art textbook i found in the basement. on a graph of all the major art movements of the 20th century i wrote SHIT really big. the truth hurts, but i love it anyway.

i went out and wrote things on walls with a marker. i wrote PRAY TELL and LOVE KEEPS and WAR underneath a stop sign. a police officer was down the street, parked and scanning for speeders. he didn't notice the real crime. i was on the phone the whole time with an old friend.

my grandma was panicked when i came home. i dont know why. she should've been in bed about the time i left. she went through the papers on my counter and found the SHIT drawing. she wasn't upset which is upsetting. she was worried about some other things, like me being lost. i told her i'm an adult and i can take walks and be fine.

i am still waiting for the citizen to get off their asses and send me some paperwork. i am going to call them tomorrow. i made a list of goals for myself today because i was in a very, very weird mood. here it is:

i want to go to metrocenter and puke on purpose

and i want to get in a car accident and scream

i want to get a tattoo first then get drunk

i want to draw things on walls

fuck
i want to burn things
tomorrow i'm only going to take pictures in black and white
take pictures where the action is
i won't forget anything
i won't stop driving fast