"Why did this happen?" Fuck you, motherfucker. I actually, well, I guess I still don't, but I didn't really see the gravity of the situation when it was still fresh. When they had gotten the "medicine" out of her system they flew her right back to Chicago where they could keep an eye on her, and of course me and Brooke were talking this whole time and I finally just said, "So when do I see you?" And she hesitated and said, "I don't think it's going to be like that."
And me, I just thought, Like what? I mean, I still don't see what the big deal about suicide is, especially if you're just a nobody with no kids to take care of like me, like I've said before, I'm just taking up space, basically using my ability to put words into a computer to convince other people that suicide is perfectly fine, so if anything it'd be a good thing that I kill myself because it's going to save other people's lives. And I understand that those closest to you would be sad and all that stuff, but is it that sad? Especially if somebody wants to be dead, can't you have compassion for that person? Now, as far as Brooke goes, I honestly think she was in the midst of a "manic episode" as one of my therapists described the state that most people are in when they try to kill themselves, but if you're someone like me who obsesses over it all the fucking time, then what is it? Is it just fulfilling a goal? Is it making your dreams come true?
And we've attached such importance to artists in our time, they've really taken the place of war heroes, we call them "revolutionaries" (which I think is completely fucking bogus, it minimizes the impact that real, actual revolutions have had all through time to say that... I don't know, the Ramones were revolutionary, no matter how much I may (or used to) like the Ramones, but punk was NOT a fucking revolution). So let's just pretend and say that I'm an "artist" just for the sake of whatever the fuck this is or has become or isn't or something, then if I die young are people going to say, "Oh the things he would have accomplished if only he had a few more years!" Now remember, in this scenario I am an honest to goodness artist. But, even if that's what I am on my best day, what does that mean anyway? The way I see it is art is just a shitty excuse to not coalesce and fight the true ailments of society. And maybe that's another wonderful trick that got played on us was that we all believed that art means something. That it has an "impact." It's a nice distraction, it's certainly better than being into sports, but it's not fucking revolutionary! No artist is a hero... unless someone used one of their paintings to put out a baby who's on fire, but other than that, all you did was air your grievances abstractly—and potentially beautifully—but you didn't do anything. I do this because what I am capable of (barely) is sitting in a room by myself and being pissed off. If I were more capable I'd go out and try to start riots and convince people to burn all their money and kill rich people, but I'm not so I do this instead. So this is what I need to stick around for? To do this?
So, okay, we can mourn those who we determined have killed themselves in these "manic" states, because that would be a shitty thing that you're just sort of temporarily out of your mind and you do something that you don't really want to do, like fucking an ugly person when you're drunk, but like, fucking them for eternity, but for those of us who our only objective in life is to not wake up tomorrow, then should we be mourned? Has our talent been wasted?
Speaking of art, before I went home after being kicked out of the hospital by Brooke's family, Carla came to sit with me as I smoked a cigarette outside. She asked me what Brooke had been reading. I said, "She was reading Anna Karenina." And Carla like pulled back, and was kinda like, Oh shit, like she had figured something out. I said, "Why?" Me having not read the book, and then quickly figuring out why Carla was all Oh shit... and then I was pissed off that she ruined the end for me.
It's like, as if being alive now isn't shitty enough, that's another fucking thing that just sucks is that all of the great art has been ruined because it has all become such a part of the culture that you need to know how everything ends, or the twists in every great movie, just to be able to keep up with the references. But then you end up knowing that Rosebud is a fucking sled before you can even get to Citizen Kane, or the entire end scene of Casablanca, or that Anna of Anna Karenina kills herself before you even have a chance to fucking read it. And then since we're really into just the first few generations of people who have grown up with mountains of art, we're not allowed to have our own art that's any good, or to like anything contemporary because that means that we don't appreciate the things that came before us, and then you just have to live on this tiny little razor-wire of liking things before too many people do, or waiting long enough in the between years for the good things that you missed to be labelled "classic" just so that it finally has enough academic clout to be able to be liked. Everything is ruined before we even get to claim it, and God forbid we do claim it before it's been vetted thoroughly enough. It's a shit time to be alive kiddos, enjoy it while you can't.
God we're so fucking docile now it's embarrassing...