1. Friday, July 12, 2002

    Oh, look at my face, my name is might have been. 

    seems like summer has just started and i already want a do-over. it’s like that Kevin Costner film where he says, “black is white, white is black, we’re through the looking-glass people,” everything that seems real is fake, and everything that you once trusted has turned its back on you.

    my name is never was. my name’s forgotten.

    I’m the best blamer in the world. if i make a foul and i get called on it i pout, i blame the guy with the whistle, i’ll blame everyone around me. i’ll raise my hand for the score keeper but in my head I’m saying, “this is so much bullshit.”

    but unlike the nba, in real life people won’t always talk to you when theres a discrepancy. theres no press conference afterwards where you get to give your take and you get to hear theirs. and you don’t always get a chance to lace them up the next night and prove to the world that you are the real deal. that you are the mvp. that you are the man.

    my whole life ive felt incredibly misunderstood. i don’t say that as a victim, im no victim. i say that as a curiosity. i know that sometimes i cause my own confusion, but most of the time i think to myself, “am i insane?” “did that person see what i saw?” “is that person for real with that shit?”

    you better watch out, for what i wish for…

    ive had a few dreams come true and usually they turned into nightmares. ive met some of my heroes and they were mere mortals, that broke my heart. ive had jobs where i made tons of cash, or had amazing amounts of power and freedom, and despite my best laid plans, the soaring heights that i reached only made for a more tragic and fucked up descent.

    and when you fall that far, you don’t end up at the beginning, you sink below the surface. it’s not bad enough that you’ve seen the glory of the heavens, but now you’ve got to start over on the fiery sands of pandemonium.

    when I wake up in your makeup, have you ever felt so used up as this?

    but i press on. what else can i do? bandage up the shooting arm, slap a knee brace on, stick the elbow out and drive through the lane with my head down. everyone knows im going to shoot it. i cant pass it. you don’t pay me to pass. you pay me to pull up and nail it.

    but in life, sometimes, when you think you’ve nailed it, some people will try to convince you that you did something wrong.

    theres no scoreboard to point at for reassurance, theres no instant replay or millions of witnesses. theres fucked up me and pissed off you, and after years and years of this shit i don’t even know who to believe– which is why i hung with you in the first place.

    but the worst is when you bail on me. the worst is when you treat me like a common frat boy spilling his coors light with his neon visor flipped upside down and backwards. you’ll listen to your fears, you’ll listen to everyone else. you’ll listen to people who are never there for you like i’d be. you ask others questions and you forget that they call me the answer.

    honeysuckle, full of poison, i obliterated everything you kissed

    now im fucked up

    somewhere in westwood

    so glad I came here with my pound of flesh.

    you want a part of me?

    well, I’m not selling cheap

    im not selling cheap.

    i feel so

    fucking cheap.

    clicking: the 50 page summer fashion special