I don’t know, man…working on the skullfuck bush party makes me realize just how ambiguous I really am when it comes to politics. there’s no right way to think, no clear way out of the mess we’re all in. I don’t wanna veil on my face, I don’t wanna car that spurts toxins into the air, I don’t wanna read about all the infighting regarding the building to be born on ground zero, I don’t wanna cringe inside when the train comes to a sudden halt due to a police investigation, I don’t wanna have kids and suffocate them with my neurosis, I don’t wanna put up with some richy rich pinstripe dude cutting in front of me like it’s nothing, like I’m nothing, I don’t wanna spend my entire 20s dazed and confused, wasting valuable energy repressing all the fucked up shit that happened, I don’t wanna keep fronting like I’m strong, I don’t wanna be called a victim, I don’t wanna march, I don’t wanna stand still, I don’t wanna know, I don’t wanna find out, I don’t wanna fuck, I’d rather be fucked, lie on my back and dream, dream, dream, I don’t wanna wake up tomorrow and find out that it’s all been decided…

it’s like the end of the first story in denis johnson’s collection, jesus’ son. yep, the same one from which they made that sucky ass movie that I nodded out on. anyway, the story’s called “car crash while hitchhiking” and it’s about how the narrator, a nameless drugged-out hitchhiker in the heart of the heart of the country is in a car crash and ends up saving the baby of the family who’s picked him up. there he is lying to the doctors who want to admit him to the hospital, a precursor to years later when he’ll be dragged into rehab and injected with sedatives, his skin crawling and his eyes seeing shit…totally fucked up, totally unreliable…

“and you,” he writes, “ you ridiculous people, you expect me to help you.”



blue hysteria