page 1 "jordie pulled up into the driveway and honked the horn of her mother's sedan"
page 3: "If your lonliness becomes great enough"
page 4: "It was bands like Placebo and The Smashing Pumpkins"
page 5: "Art was a way for him to make money and meet girls"
page 6: "A week or so later, the girl came back to the warehouse and found the machine in meltdown"
jordie pulled up into the driveway and honked the horn of her mother's sedan,
twice. marx came out the front door and said "don't do that", and
then opened the passenger side door and got into the car. he shut the car door
and jordie pulled out slowly.
the car stereo was playing the song in which bjork and the singer from radiohead
sang about how they have seen it all and there was no more to see. jordie was
always listening sad songs, although she never seemed sad. marx tolerated it.
"i'm going to college, jordie". said marx.
"yeah" said jordie. "are you nervous?"
marx said yes, he was a bit nervous.
"i think my life is already coming to an end." said jordie. "there
were things i thought i was going to do, but now i'm not going to do anything."
jordie was still driving but she was starting to cry. marx was staring out the
window and didn't notice she was crying, although he noticed how emotional she
had become.
"how's steve?" asked marx, while smoothing his pantlegs nervously.
steve was jordie's boyfriend, although jordie was not steve's only girlfriend.
"steve is history." said jordie.
"good." said marx with emphasis, "this time for real, i hope."
"he's gone." said jordie.
they got slurpees and went to the funeral.
keith notes:
everett says:
keith is an alien movie star that was part of said alien
species interplanetary travelling circus and he got lost here somehow
dog named gretchen - 800$ wiener dog, after donnie's gf
rat masturbation
suit, blue value village sunglasses
If your lonliness becomes great enough, the empty space around you allows for
an echo. The sound of this echo will create, briefly, the illusion of companionship.
You will repeat this sound until, eventually, you will get used to this comforting
echo, and it will then become unsatisfactory. You will go on to a greater empty
space, find a larger cavern to swallow up your loneliness, until this too becomes
too small. As this behavior repeats, a pattern will begin to emerge, as you
try to encase your vacancy inside of a void which is larger, and larger.
Perhaps, one day, you see the pattern for what it is. At this point, it is expected
that you will scream, and an echo will follow the scream, a sound which is louder,
and loud enough- if only for a short time.
It was bands like Placebo and The Smashing Pumpkins. Of course it was Marilyn
Manson. It was everything from Pink Floyd to The Get Up Kids. It was shaving
your head and dying your goatee green. It was thinking about killing kids at
school. We were on to something big. We never got it. We sure died trying.
Art was a way for him to make money and meet girls. Art kept him comfortable,
well fed, art kept a teenage girl in his bed three nights a week, and basic
cable. It wasn't a life, it was a mockery, an imitation, a plastic plant. He
didn't like me hanging around because I frightened the girls away, and even
if I took my shoes off in the corridor I still managed to get dirt all over
his place. Then he bought a pair of rollar blades and I was out of there. Last
I heard he was running for public office.
A week or so later, the girl came back to the warehouse and found the machine
in meltdown. She spent hours restoring the machine to working order, and as
she turned to leave, exhausted, the machine said from behind her "You are
a bad friend. I don't know why I let you come around.". The girl attributed
this statement to permanently scarred circuits in the machine's central processing
system, but she was still angry as she left. However, a few days later she returned
to the warehouse, knowing full well that the machine needed her. For the next
month, although his cruelty caused her considerable pain, the girl returned
to the machine a few times a week, to make sure he was in functioning order.
One day she came to the warehouse and the machine said "You like rock and
roll music for the wrong reasons.".
"Our friendship is over." said the girl, and once and for all, she
left the machine alone to the madness of his faulty circuits.
the moral is you should never mess with a girl's record collection, and if you're
going to take the long way home, don't get stuck on the same old route.