It always feels like the farther I go, the harder the pull backwards. 

I’m in Vegas. I threw a surprise party for my brother’s birthday.  It was a lot of fun. I stressed way too much about it, but now that it’s over I can focus on just work. We went out afterwards to some punk rock bar, where they made me drink a shot of “ass juice” from a mini toilet.  Seemed appropriate at the time. I got a bit smashed and am feeling it today. Tonight he’s playing with the Spazmatics, which is a really fun 80’s gig. Then back to LA tomorrow. I’ve got two or three days to get my house, clothes, kit, etc, packed up and ready to go to another show. This time in Atlanta. At least it’s closer to Nola. I will do some weekend trips for sure. I was just in Atlanta this past week for a night. One friggin night. Flew there Wednesday, back to LA Thursday, then drove here (Vegas) with my mom and cousin Sam on Friday.  Go go go. I’m so shot. If I was smart (and we both know I’m not), I would just stay in tonight, watch a movie, take a pill and get some rest.  I have to drive us all home tomorrow too. Anyway, you crossed my mind, so wanted to update you, though I don’t know if you even read this anymore. Imtgis could just by mental and emotional masturbation. For now I’ll just imagine that, if only for curiosity reasons, you still look at this now and again.  I hope you’re doing well. 

I wish we lived for a thousand years, so perhaps we’d have the time to do it right. 

It saddens me a bit to think of the inspiration for these posts becoming fewer and farther between. Sadder still, that they may not be read anymore; that it’ll just be my words and the vast, empty internet. 

Climbing into bed, I looked at your post card again. At first it read like a pleasant, yogic sentiment of some sort, but rereading the words “may you be free” resonated, and it now seems to be a wish that I (and you) be free of you and of this weight. That’s how it appears to me now. I’m poor at it but I’m working on it. 

I had just had a second meeting for a TV pilot that may shoot in Chicago. I felt pretty good about it, but you can never really tell. It wasn’t a “dicks in the dirt” feeling, but good enough. I’m in the mustang with the top down listening to tunes, and “I Come Running Back”comes on. At first it’s fun; a snappy tune that’s fun to drive to. Then your face lands smack dab in the middle of my mind, like some huge bug that hit the windshield and won’t get out of the center of my vision. I was being assaulted by memories and by your face. I must have looked like some crazy person because I literally yelled “fuck you” and had to change the song. Thin Lizzy may be ruined for me now. 

You know I’m scared to read my own posts?  I fear that like looking at you, it will hurt. Why are you still on my brain?  If we weren’t so far it would so so fu king easy to make it work one way or the other. 

The selfish part of me, though conflicted, wanted to see you, and was admittedly a bit bummed at misssing an opportunity to see you.  However, the part of me that hates to see you in pain and only wants the best for you, the larger part, knowing that seeing me may have made it a different experience, was truly happy that you met a guy and had a fun Mardi Gras sans moi.  

It’s not that I don’t think of you. I do virtually every day; questioning what I think is the right thing.  Went and saw the Revivalists last night here in LA and there were all these couples dancing swaying together to the music, and of course I thought of you. 

Were we ever any good together?  In retrospect I’m not sure.  I remember a lot of frustration on both sides. Am I wrong?