Please Don't Go.

I'm sorry Jasmine. i really am. I've been lying to you. Nothing's been okay. But for some reason I can't tell you shit sometimes. I just can't.

I wrote these to Kelley, and I'm writing them to you:

I'm stressing about housing at Humboldt. Apparently it's really impacted and I get second priority under the people already there (this makes sense, but it sucks cock that they don't have to worry and here I am worrying my face off and smoking myself stupid waiting for the package to arrive with my registration info and my housing info and my God). maybe I shouldn't go. I've actually begun enjoying Cal State San Bernardino lately. Seeing you and being late to work. Smoking and talking with Bradley (camaraderie in the cancer sticks). But maybe I'm not stressin about meeting people for once being I know I won't see'em ever again. I smoked almost a whole pack today. I'm beginning to feel depressed again. I'm really hungry. I want to hang myself with an extension cord from the rafters above my patio. I can't do it. I need to know I have purpose. I don't have one. Nothing to live for. All the good ones are taken. I don't know how much of this you're gonna get. I can't sleep, someone wake me up. I hope I'm not already dead.

I don't know how much longer I can believe in God. He's been gone or I've been gone fro so long. According to my pastor, I should have a consistent place where I find God, but that's always been in the loving arms of another. And it's been so long. It's been so long. It's been so long. Please don't worry about me, I should be fine by morning (maybe sunrise, since it's already 430AM). I don't know if I'm gonna sleep tonight. Call it a watching. Call it a lost faith. I can't see myself believing that christdied for my sins. Every time I say it I feel dirty. Where has he gone where has he gone where has he gone. I'm going to have a smoke (I only got through half of it. Even the one shining light of nicotine that has given me strength for the past two weeks can't seem to push me away from the echelon I seem to be fading into.)

I don't want to die. Alone. I don't want to be alone. I can't seem to find God in anything I ever fucking do. He's no longer there when I pray, and the wisdom of the bible doesn't make any sense when it's all so linear and one-life-to-live while I've come to see everything as a cyclical still-life, where we churn on forever, seeing the same things recur and ebb and recur and ebb before we die to be reborn. The crux of the matter is what we don't remember from our first years. What seems to be the crux of the matter is what everyone thinks will happen when we die. I hate to say it, as a "Christian," but I just don't fucking know anymore. I have lost ten ounces of faith. And that's why, Kelley, I seem to be okay with liking you: I've lost what used to drag us apart. I've lost God. The tether seems to have been cut loose after I've been out among the waters for so long, trying to grab the rope and pull myself back. I can't find back. I can't find forward. I'm so goddam alone. The Weather Channel is on mute, I'm glad it's no longer hurricane season. I was at band camp when Katrina hit New Orleans. And now everyone forgets the devastation. Will everyone forget my devastation?

Where is God? Where is divinity? What is it, who is He but a figment of my imagination? Where am I to go but into the soil and churned back one day to be among the leaves. No matter dissolves. But maybe that ethereal idea of a soul does. God where are you I am here. God where are you. Did I come to the wrong address? I've been waiting out in the cold without a coat for a year now. Where are you where have you gone?


I feel more and more that my religion is more like The Cask of Amontillado than a faith. I am constantly drawing myself into the wine chambers with the thoughts of great Amontillado during carnival season, denouncing that my peer has any right to be judging such a great drink while all the while I am walking myself into the chasm where I will be buried alive with the bones of ancestors.

But this is Beckett. It starts over again, and we never really die. We just suffer and suffer and suffer and loathe and sulk and plea and deny and wonder where is GODot?!

Or this is Kafka. And we sink. And things get eternally worse. Things will get eternally worse.

Maybe I am already buried alive?
Maybe things are at their worst?
I am a liar, a scam, and a phony. I am alone in the most beligerant world. I want to one day be dust in a new star. What were visions of heaven but hallucinations? What was Revelation but a hallucination by an old man in exile? What was Christ but Criss Angel? I feel none of Christ's blood in me. The father and I are not one. Where is HE. I am here, and I was groping in the blinding darkness, but you've given me NOTHING. I have what I've always had. And now I'm growing tired of you giving me jack-fucking-shit but taking everything away from me.

Fuck you, I guess you can pray for me.

Fuck me, I guess I can--

Please Don't go. I'm sorry I didn't write. When I was supposed to. write. mi
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