Archive for December 28th, 2002

the killing fields

Saturday, December 28th, 2002 at about 10:59 pm

the killing fields

I’m posting from Max’s house. I’m staying with him for a few days here in New Jersey. I’m having a good time, overall. We threw a party last night; it was a good time. Nothing spectacular, and I didn’t really hit it off with any of the non-Long Hill kids my friends have met at high school who were there, but still I had fun. At the very least I’m glad we had it just so I could see a couple of people who otherwise I wouldn’t have.

Today we went to see Lord of the Rings. It was still good the second time. I’m not sure how entertaining it’ll be a third round, but I get the sense that before break is over I’m going to find out. I mean, I may as well, although I think I’ll only go if it’s a good outing in social terms.

I went to Adam’s house for the night so we could hang out a little. I also saw his mom (my 7th grade social studies teacher), which was nice. We went outside and played around in the snow for a while. We got out his dad’s old golf clubs and were taking swings at pieces of ice for a while; that was great fun. Max isn’t home, and neither are his parents. His little sister and her friend are here, though. We were all watching The Man Show for a while, then I got on the computer to talk to some people online and write this. They kept right on watching the next episode, though, despite near-constant talk about how disgusting it was. I think the sister’s friend (Emily her name is?) is sleeping over. She just walked into the living room with boxers and a t-shirt on. Whatever, she’s 13.

Although I’m having a good time here, I do have the occasional pang of painful memory. Perhaps that isn’t the right term for it. More so I just think, “What am I doing here?” It’s partly self-induced. I’m weaving this fantastic story of the tragic teenage boy who I am not. To this end, the phrase “They come here to die.” has been flashing to mind more and more frequently lately. I’m not sure why. At first it was only when it was appropriate, like in association with a nursing home or hospital - somewhere where people really do tend to die. But it’s also the animals that move and migrate and travel great distances to the burial grounds. I’ll tell you what it isn’t, though. It isn’t the 15 year old who slowly loses his sanity self-respect; who spirals downward into a never-ending cycle of depression and imaginary addiction; who gasps little breaths of life. The boy who makes it back home before he dies, going out in a brilliant explosion of self-pity.

It�s great fun to look back over what I wrote and see the slant it�s given. I�m the one who put it there, but completely unintentionally. It just comes off wrong. One of the marks of good writing is that it actually says what the author intends. Or is it? Maybe not. Perhaps so long as it says something interesting, it doesn�t matter what the fuck the author was thinking. I�ll have to give that a little more thought. Anyway, in this particular case looking back over the post shows how strange the end of the 3rd paragraph is: �Whatever, she�s 13.� What the fuck does that mean?

Anyway, it�s getting late. I slept late today (which actually wasn�t wise, since I had about 4 minutes to jump out of bed and get ready to go see Lord of the Rings at noon), and I�ll sleep relatively late tomorrow, but I�m a little tired. Until next time…

Posted in General
by tom