Rage.

And register to fucking vote.

I am sitting here. I am sitting here and I am typing this. I am amazing. I am amazing! I am sitting here and I am typing this and as I am typing this I am amazing!! READ THIS! IT IS AMAZING! These are profound insights. These are my words. I didn't make this words but I put them in this order. I am the greatest chef in the world. The world gave the goods, but look at this I mixed them up just right! You can taste it can't you?

Think of all the amazing things I can do! I can sit here and type this. I can look at things and feel things. I see know and I know that I am amazing. I see a shadow and it spins and I can sense it in the wind on the air it comes blasting in the current. This spinning shadow. Maybe I'm spinning. Did you read those last few sentences? They were fucking great right?

I think I'm amazing. Just like really stunningly cool. Wicked awesome. Radical to the extreme. I would go so far as to say fuckin' tubular because these are the kind of things I can get away with. I'm just that awesome. I'm just that fuckin' tubularly amazin'. I don't even have to write the "g"s a the end of words that require them. Check that amazing shit out.things and I know them and I feel what I want to know. I

I can write and I can do this. I can find words and I can tell you what they mean and I can use them. Isn't that amazing? And won't people read this? And somebody might think it's amazing.

Don't you think so? Don't you? Say somethin' god dammit. Fine, just say something just tell me. Tell me it's good. Tell me it's amazing. Come on, now it's not that hard.

Which is what I'm writing for cause I want somebody to tell me it's amazing. That's what I'm doing. It's self-aggrandizement. It is entirely selfish. I am not amazing. I am a fucking hack. Can't you tell? I am a second rate David Eggers. Did you read that book? Do you see how fucking blatantly I'm ripping him off? My writing is stunning mediocrity. I am far less interesting than I believe. I am begging for compliments. I desire acceptance. I want to be noticed. I pretend that I am in this for the drive and the feeling but I am in this to be noticed.

No. I am not. I am amazing. And if not amazing than I am real at least, which should count for some points I think. And I am really me. I question myself but I am too hard on myself. I am not doing this to be noticed. I am doing this because it is me.

It is narcissistic of me to think that anybody gives a shit.

But people do give a shit. They do give a shit. I am far less interesting than I think, but certainly I am far more interesting than I know.

See, even that makes no fucking sense.

I know but it seems smart. Maybe? Maybe it's amazing.

I just want to be me. I'm not trying to be anything else. I don't begrudge anybody else what they do and what they know and what they feel. I don't begrudge anybody else for being amazing. I don't even want to be amazing. I just want to be me. And it's not fucking fair that David Eggers gets dibs on self-aware self-critical ramblings. I'll take this one to court. I am real and I am me and I am not copying fucking anyone. I'll keep telling myself this. This is me and I am amazing

Again with the narcissism.

I firmly believe that if I am just me that will be amazing.

Well I amaze myself sometimes, at any rate.

Star Trek is on in the background. The original series.

It's the last one.

Well, for now.

***

I am feeling particularly wiggity-wack right now. If you're not in the mood for stuff like "The smell of cigarettes is pervasive. It surrounds me, it envelops me. Everybody smokes. Everything smokes. I can taste it around me and through me. I read my book while people smoke and laugh and talk and smoke. I reach for the dictionary, but this little dictionary doesn't define "anechoic. "" then I recommend you skip this one, and just go back and read "The Interview" instead. I liked that one.

It's looking, currently, like it might end up being like this the whole way through.

Just warning you.

***
Benson: Dude, I read your e-mails from England.
Dave: Oh yeah?
Benson: Yeah.
Dave: What'd you think?
Benson: I couldn't understand them.
Dave: ...
Benson: Any of them. Sometimes I thought you might be speaking French.
Dave: Rad.*
Benson: Nobody says rad anymore, you loser.*

*(these two lines are make-believe. just so you know)

***
La Mesa, California

I have no idea what's going on. In my mind it is still 1992. I am ten years old, I am at Lemon Avenue Elementary School. I am in La Mesa, California. The riots were just last year. The day they started we pushed our desks to the side and Mrs. Chung sat us all in a circle on the floor, and we talked about the world and I grew that day. The Persian Gulf war is recently over.

The more things / the more they stay etc. etc.

2004 is just too surreal, so I'm ignoring it. It is 1992. I can use the word "rad" freely, without fear of ridicule.

It is 1992! It is 1992! Denial is totally rad!

***
Pasadena, California.

There's this whole home thing. Am I home? Parts of this feel like home. Is it a semantic debate? Is New York home? Does it matter? You know, you know, you know. This sort of thing.

The same sort of thing I've been a-droppin' on you since the beginning. Since England.

Oh, right. England.

***
Jolly Old Whatever

I sat on the floor in the middle of Ariana's room. This is one night. This is every night. This is the middle of the night. The smell of cigarettes is pervasive. It surrounds me, it envelops me. Everybody smokes. Everything smokes. I can taste it around me and through me. I read my book while people smoke and laugh and talk and smoke. I reach for the dictionary, but this little dictionary doesn't define "anechoic." It doesn't have "ephebe" or "lissome" either. It does have "NBC" in it, which makes me wonder where the priorities lie these days.

I complain about sentence structure and improper word use. I challenge people on their syntax. Karen calls me a pedant. I think I should throw the little dictionary at her. But I don't. I just say "Your mom's a pedant" or something equally original.

Cha-click. Snapshot.

It's the National Broadcasting Corporation (formerly Company). In case, you know. Plus, Ari's going to be exceptionally happy that she finally got mentioned in an update. So double-whammy.

***
New York, New York

I don't even know what to say. Which makes for compelling reading. OK, moving on.

***
San Francisco, California

Same thing. But for different reasons.

***
New York, New York

I still don't know what to say. See how fun thinking about stuff too much can be? Let's take it again:

Screw it, let's jump around a bit; get all post-modern and reference some of the other updates.

***
Somewhere Over Greenland

I'm still there in

***
Possibly the Hungerford Footbridge

spirit if not

***
La Mesa, California

in time. Or place. Or uh... anyway.

***
NYNY

The reason I can't talk about it is that I miss it too much for words. The feel of it. The taste of it in body and the feel of it in my pores. The sensory overload. The streets and the sidewalks trees and people and buildings the high rise the apartments the smell surrounding me. The knowledge. The feel. Pervasive. Understanding and questioning. The lifestyle, the people. Everyone I miss. Too cold nights too hot days. Theatre. Any theatre. Doing some theatre for once in my life.

It's too much. I'm comin' back, baby.

***
2004

It is 26 hours into the New Year. I am done writing e-mail updates.

At least until I decide I have something really important to say again, or a clever new trick for ripping off some author.

It felt like it was time for some closure.

Here it is:

***
Wherever

Cha-click.

Goodnight.