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Date: 1241010249
PostID: 1145587608
Title: (free stuff) For Sale: Baby shoes, never worn.

e-mail Ernest.





 Location: Brooklyn
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

Bridge Burning 101

I just stopped this all of a sudden. I don't know why.

After months and months of not talking to my ex, I sent an e-mail (which was ignored), and followed it up with an instant message two days later. They are reproduced below to help explain what's floating around in my head.

e-mail:

subject: hey

This sucks. I write you these notes now and then and never send them,
just to get them out of my system i guess. But really what they
amount to is just wanting to say hi I think. I have no idea what
you're doing-- I guess that's the point of this silence, but it's
pretty lame. I feel like super avoiding you and contact with you is
just making shit weird for no reason.


--Bill S. Preston Esq.

IM conversation:

6:17 PM me: just a recognition that we both exist is all

6 minutes

6:24 PM g: i can recognize that.

6:25 PM me: thanks buddy. it's just been a long time of that existence being kind of in the ether in some way.

6:29 PM g: i don't want to have a friendship with you sam.

6:31 PM me: I have trouble understanding how you can be so intimately involved in someone's life for so long and then just not care at all about them anymore. I'm not looking for a date to go get a burrito or anything, I'm just occasionally curious what you 're up to and would like to entertain the idea that if we ran into each other at some point we would be able to speak in that regard.

6:34 PM g: No, I'm sorry.

6:35 PM me: I guess I just should have said nothing so at least I'd get a hello.

6:36 PM So now the awkward anxiety of a meeting can return... as opposed to me just being able to say hi and turn around and get a drink or something, now what am I supposed to do? Pretending I never knew someone seems absurd.

6:38 PM We share a handful of common friends I have been avoiding to alot this space (for myself, more so), but it just seems silly.

g: i don't know what you're talking about specifically.

I'm busy at work and can't really talk about this

6:39 PM me: I apologize. I really just wanted to say hello, and was curious what you were working on. It was just about that scenario, of running into you. I should have left it out there and if it came up just said "hi"

...from afar.


After that I got no more responses.

sms

my friend joe and i made a suicide-suicide/murder-suicide pact some time ago.

this ensures that neither one of us will off ourselves before things are really miserable. i think it's a great idea. i have told joe if he kills himself without running it by me first and getting agreement and approval, i will "dig you up and beat the shit out of you."

here is a text message exchange from yesterday (friday) night, around 8pm:

sam: one of those verizon fios cable guy ads actually just made me laugh

joe: i just read about rick ross being fake

sam: we are both having really successful friday nights

joe: totally -- murder suicide

sam: i am drinking caffeine just so i don't pass out at like 830pm. but all im gonna do is stay up and do nothing.

joe: at least valentine's day is coming up

joe: hopefully i will get some crazy razor blades and some pcp

sam: i'm going to get a pair of tin snips and cut a heart out of a razor and slice my veins with it then swallow it with a gulp of festive red colored drano

sam: also, i will carve "i loved you" into my chest as a suicide note, and people will argue over who it was meant for and i'll finally be famous

joe: will it be meant for jon grace

(jon is our crazy friend who is always in jail who just joined the army after a long petitioning process to convince them to let him in and is now in boot camp)

sam: obviously

joe: at least he will be remembered

sam: as i'm dying, you can carve a portrait of him in an army helmet on my back as your pills kick in. as you fade away, the lines will become more and more abstract until you finally collapse, falling to the ground, a switchblade will rest in your hand as you lay across the now blood soaked floor.

sam: (this will be shown by following the knife, slowly pulling the camera back to reveal you beginning to die, and as you fall backwards, the camera slowly rises up while tilting down to end in an aerial shot of the tragic scene)

joe: where will these festivities take place

sam: i think a really swank penthouse with a nice glossy floor and high ceilings, for art's sake

sam: oh, also, there should be a girl passed out in a corner, like slumped over. it will fade to black, but it will be obvious that upon her awakening she discovers the scene.

sam: actually, it'll cut to black. not fade.

joe: sounds like an instant classic

sam: it's the taxi driver for a new generation man

joe: i mean its either that or donate sperm profferinoaly [sic]

joe: that word is from the future

sam: my sperm is from the future

jumping for joy

Dear Journal,
It's been ages since my words touched your sweet ivory pages.

Yesterday "21 internet bloggers" (as opposed to, you know, "life bloggers") were on set. I am writing in this blog thing, but I hope I am never referred to as an, "internet blogger." That would really bum me out.

One of the PA's on this shoot I've become friends with (on set) sent me his script he's trying to shoot in June. First off, this kid has never made a film ("but I've worked on so many, I have a lot of experience"), and second, it's a feature. Yesterday I forced myself to read up to page 23 in this 121 page screenplay. I have never had a harder time reading anything, ever. He's a nice kid, and seems smart, but it's really apparent from his writing that he has no idea what emotions are, or how people respond to tragedy. From what I can tell so far, the whole thing is based around a kid whose parents died I guess, and he goes to his uncle's warehouse to ask him for a job and instead his uncle sends him all the way to New York City ("cut between montage of big buildings, flashing lights, fire escapes, and protaganist's fascinated face" -- seriously, this is in the script, and it doesn't even make since because the kid is supposedly from Chicago, which isn't a rural area by any means) to check on his daughter who recently had her new roommate (she found him on craigslist!) kill himself in his room within days after moving in. Needless to say, she was rushed to the hospital and diagnosed with a "stress disorder" and now takes three different kinds of pills. The kicker, is that the girl's father (the protagonist's uncle who apparently took care of him when he was younger-- which you finally learn on page 23, along with some other necessary character description, like the protagonists age) "used to drink quite a bit" and I guess took it out on our poor hero. This description makes no sense, but that's basically how the script is, too. So whatever. Imagine that, with a lot of camera/editing direction and unnecessary capitalization written in, too ("SLOW ZOOM on CHARLIE's FACE" "SMASH CUT to eggs in a SKILLET").

***

This past Sunday I found a great convertible loveseat on the street outside of our place. This was an especially awesome occurrence since literally earlier in the night I had been talking about how I had really wanted to go out and get a small sofa for my room this week, but then I got called to work on set and had to rule that out. In reality though, even if I hadn't been working, I've been feeling like I shouldn't be spending money on things like that, so I had been going back and forth on the whole thing.

Anyway, walking a friend to the train I spotted a nice brown microsuede couch (revealed to be a sofabed when we tried to turn it sideways and a bed popped out). It was set out with the trash, but with some finesse, two matching throw pillows thoughtfully placed on either side of the seat cushion. We sat on it and watched traffic pass by, smelled it to make sure it wasn't covered in urine or something, and set to take it into my room. Which we did thanks to my downstairs neighbor who helped me get it up the stairs.

After walking my friend back to the train, I went upstairs, stood in my kitchen, and couldn't stop smiling. Then I literally started jumping up and down (quietly so neither of my roommates would walk in and see how crazy I was being) because I was so happy. I don't think I've ever really jumped out of happiness before, or been as happy over a piece of furniture.

Tuesday night I went over the couch with a steamer, and now it's a lovely part of my room (which I desperately need to clean and arrange in some sort of manner that makes since).

I think one of the fish I've grown quite attached to is sick and will be dying soon. That's always kind of a bummer, but one you also tend to forget almost immediately upon turning your head away from the tank. Not like when I was a kid and I stayed home from school one day because I was such a wreck over my fish dying. Still, it's a bummer. Also, I think he's blind.