On the subject of C4 (plastic explosive.. it's probably C[some-other-number] but that's not important):
"If you set it on fire, it'll burn merrily... but if you hit it with a hammer... SAY HI TO GOD!!"
--Lonnie, the chef.
Regularly scheduled programming:
My beloved Jessica called me earlier today:
"Will you be home around 2.30 am?"
Quite taken aback by the odd hour, I replied, "Yeah, why?"
"Well, I get off work at two, and I have a present for you."
What the fuck are they doing until two? It closes at around 9 pm [usually] I believe, and unless she's gotten some new job that I'm unaware of, they must be doing something extra special...
I haven't driven for almost a week, which is really strange. Nicole and Stefan have been carting me around everywhere because I have been disinclined to leave my bed. Atrocious fight with my parents today.
My mother is rightly Catholic, she could even be Jewish, because she is top-of-the-line when it comes to guilt. Catholic guilt, Jewish guilt. I think it's really funny that guilt is associated with religions.
I came to a really sad realisation tonight: I knew I was never having kids to begin with because I am in no way responsible enough (nor do I believe I will ever be) to bring them up properly. I'd be like Shug Avery from The Colour Purple, leaving my children with my ma and pa. That aside, I realised another reason why I will never have children is because I am terrified that they will resent and ultimately have a lingering distaste for me the way I do for my parents.
I hate saying that about them, it makes me hate myself, but how much clash can you take before you throw in the towel, regardless of the fact that these people are family? Is 19 years enough? Can I please just leave them behind like everyone has left me behind and get on with my life? Something holds me back. I must be held back for a reason. Let it lie.
This is the only way I can help you. I can't lift things with my eyes or read symbols through cards, I don't bend spoons or talk to the dead. But I can think about you. I think about you all the time, conjure you between calls. I pass you on the street and remember you later, think of you filling out the rest of your life like a survey: job, hobby, source of greatest shame. I never forget a face. I could pick you from a crowd. I want you to know, I want everyone to know, I am thinking of you.
I have a new-found appreciation of Allen Ginsberg, particularly because one of my teachers once found me reading Ginsberg and said, "That man's poetry can make me blush". The thought of this teacher of mine, this worldly male, well over forty, even reading Ginsberg to begin with, and blushing... that's love.