that and no one goes out anymore.
those two things seem to deprive me of worthwhile clientele to populate the shit i make up in my head. because even if and when i do happen to stumble around outside in this city at 5 am, the dead empty of the streets seems fit enough to conjure whatever i'd need to fill in the blanks. really, that's all it is, probably why nobody writes and most have stopped reading, all it is old stories with new bullshit shot into it, it's embarrassing really. but there's nobody fucking out there, i'd tell a story of everything dead, of riding a bike aimlessly eastward, drunk off my ass, some invisible plan coalescing ten or twenty miles further on, of 5 AM phone calls, but it would ring too true for those who can remember well enough.
i've taken it upon myself to publish...myself. and by that i mean, i write thirty second diatribes while at work and tape them to the back of buses. hmm, i should go to the greyhound depot and put them on new york bound buses, so far it's only been muni.
i need to write a scene at a party where two lovers argue and end up in the prototypical yelling and screaming fit, and i feel remiss, because i know i've been an observer to many such scenes, probably took part in a few, and i guess i've written a scene or two about it, actually the one i'm thinking about was more the quiet alternative, which i suppose i'm more likely to be a party to, the long long stares, the wobbling drunk, the rational girl's (or guy, damn rick, why'd you think yelling about how irrational i am would make a fuck of a difference to me, cmon) rational discussion of my irrationality, the impetuous decision. so what i need is some recollections to jog my memory, maybe something dreamt, since few enough who read this i've been to parties with, anyways, some recollections, something that will stick well enough, did they yell for half an hour straight and end up fucking on the roof? did a third person get involved? were there things thrown at each other?
are you on my side?