Beautiful Losers

Journal Entry
Sept 29

Nearly October and still warm in Nashville. I'm sitting on the porch to write this, my neighbors have just run past, playing that inexplicable chasing game they play, and it's 80 degrees. It's probably getting cold in New York, days getting short and brittle.

But I don't want to go back - nothing and no one is left for me there. No one has been returning my emails. I was nearly catatonic the other night with the thought: I'm unrecognizable from the person I was 3 years ago. Everything's different but the tattoos.

In my dreams everything is ending. Recurring dreams are shoring up. Old friends turn against me for a Battle Royale in the streets. Zombies chase me to the End of Days.

I think about the charming, lost, beautiful set I used to hang out with. I miss the glamour, the boys' club delinquency of the whole scene. Worshipping at the church of No Way Back. The autonomy of misfit-ism, the implied danger. There is nonesuch here, that I've found. Everyone is perfectly acceptable.

I miss being young and drunk and absolutely without ambition in that city studded with beautiful losers.