As I worked, I actually felt a little sympathy for the landlord.

D


eya went on a cleaning spree throughout Kappa Mutha Fucka, the likes it had never seen before. It was enough to make me feel guilty about sitting on my lazy ass surfing the World Wide Web. So I got busy in my own little way and worked some more on the splintered bathroom door, an early legacy of Matthew Hart's ongoing binge. It occurred to me that as I was toiling away undoing his destruction, Matthew was almost certainly off doing something completely hedonistic. It seemed unfair. But, in a way, it was kind of fun to fix the door. It made me feel like I was doing the world a favour, at least relative to the person whose action I was undoing. As I worked, I actually felt a little sympathy for the landlord. He's been nice to us after all, and here we are tearing up his property just to punctuate our conversations. Meatspace emoticons rendered on real estate.

He wants the world to love him. He just doesn't want to have to work too hard to bring this about.

I can't even remember how exactly I wasted my time today. Was it all spent checking out web sites? It seems so. I'd stop now and then to do something new to the door, like apply another layer of paint. I learned a lot about old style door latch mechanisms by disassembling and comparing a good one to the latch Matthew had smashed into little rough-hewn iron ingots.

I


mprobably, in the midst of all this, Matthew came by with some Chinese-American girl. She said something complimentary about my art and then they left. I was left thinking "Hmmm..."

He returned later, by himself. He had a malt liquor in his hand, naturally enough. There's something about him when he's around; he becomes impossible to despise, no matter what I thought when he was gone. He's such a good natured, innocent, happy-go-lucky kid. There's no malice there. I quickly recall that all his failings are just bumblings. Not just any bumblings, but endearing bumblings. He's not out to get anyone. No, he wants the world to love him. He just doesn't want to have to work too hard to bring this about. When one part of his world gets complex, he naturally gravitates towards simplicity. It doesn't get any more simple than being Angela's boyfriend. Yes, he's now calling her his "girlfriend." The whole thing disgusts me for what it allows to happen, but it all seems okay when Matthew is there talking about it.

He suggested that I get myself an Asian girl, as if Asian fuckfriends were like stereo components or other finely-crafted imported elements of high-style living.

But there are even more disturbing trends emerging in Matthew's behaviour. I've always had the feeling that Matthew is proud of his sexual conquests (most men probably are; searching my I own instincts related to this subject, men like to look at an assemblage of girls in a room and pride themselves on the fraction they've fucked). Beyond such pride, though, Matthew likes to boast immediately after something sexually interesting happens to him. This evening, he told me about the Chinese girl he'd brought by earlier. It turns out that she's one of Angela's neighbors over in the apartment complex off 14th Street. Now, Matthew and I have discussed our fetishistic attraction to Asian girls before, and we've even attempted (along with a lesbian-mode Leah) to invite a Chinese waitress back to Kappa Mutha Fucka. This time, however, the Chinese girl did go home with Matthew, was accepted by Angela into bed, and, well, I didn't ask for details, but I believe Matthew used the term "score." He suggested that I get myself an Asian girl, as if Asian fuckfriends were like stereo components or other finely-crafted imported elements of high-style living. This tale creeped me out much more than it would have in the days of Leah. It seems as though Matthew might still be using promiscuity to demonstrate his sexual worth in the aftermath of Leah's rejection, while paradoxically trying to prove another aspect of the same thing with an infantile form of needy monogamy. And Angela is willing to play along with anything. She's compliant, and she's eager to demonstrate that she's not overly attached to Matthew. For some reason, I'm very disturbed by the many levels of artifice at work here. I understand exactly why things are happening the way they are, and I understand the motivations of the individuals, and I just wish some element that pushes the whole thing askew could be removed and the affected parties, people about whom I care a great deal, could heal.

Of course, I'm also envious. My one effort at menage a trois was a complete humiliating disaster.

As long as I have at least ten years left, I feel like I have an enormous amount of time to do what I need to do.

I


've been having really depressing dreams about my parents and their farm lately. In the dreams, my parents cave in on their idealism and sell out in some fundamental, nostalgia-obliterating way. The first of these dreams came about a month ago: I came home one day to find the forested hill across the road (Pileated Peak, a parcel of land very dear to me) had been completely clear cut. I had another such dream this morning: My parents had a tacky new suburbanesque house built for them on the back pasture in among the tiny scrubby trees that grow back there. I'm not certain what all this means. Maybe the creepiness of the fact that my Dad is now surfing the web is making me doubt his adherence to ideals. It's also possible that I'm becoming more concerned about them as they grow older. People don't live forever, and that fact probably eats at my subconscious.

I almost never think about my own death. It seems like a pointless thing to consider. As long as I have at least ten years left, I feel like I have an enormous amount of time to do what I need to do. Sometimes I feel like I may have done enough already. Other times, I'll learn something new (Javascript and various oil painting techniques are examples) and I'll think, "Shit, today my life has only just begun!"



P


eggy, Zach and the as yet unnamed Baboose came over tonight. Zach was a little uncomfortable coming to my room to ask for Matthew (probably because I was an asshole to Peggy and Zach when they lived here this summer), but I was friendly, and showed him some video frame capture on my computer. He and the family posed for a picture (at right). Notice that Zach is wearing a coat and tie. That's his new outfit. In its own way it's more of an affront to convention than the outfits he wore in his hippie and punk rock phases. He's no businessman; it's some sort of ridiculous parody that he does as casually as anything else in his crazy live-for-the-moment life.

I went on to play Zachary the tune I put on the web. He especially liked the lyrics, which he sang along with me.

one year ago

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