This Totally Mysterious Book You Found in This House Where This One Guy Died

back to the lab again
new york sucks. but my dj is awesome. the atl has spoiled me with its empty bars and two dollar beers. I had 4 twenty dollar bils to my name when I rolled into the sprawling metro. with in about five seconds I think I was left with two pennies and one of those pennies was a button. I spent six dollars on a budweiser at one point and wanted to run home to the land of abandoned thoroughfares and big beers for change. I was even told to stop dancing at a bar with a really bad dj, so I wasn't even allowed to get my non threatening groove on to the music that sucked to begin with. something about a cabaret license. and the no smoking thing is kinda funny, kinda weird liek you're in someone's parent's basement. it was nice to see old friends, only stuck my foot in my mouth about two times, which is good considering. saw mike d in the village where he was bartender, bearded with a few extra lbs and an alien air of responsibility. he got me drunk. saw john g, who had justed finished shooting "palindromes" todd solondz' next movie. john's on all my skits. he's funny as shit, still I managed to keep a straight face more than usual. met my dj the next day at 6:30pm. his job isn't too hip on days off, so we had little precious time to work. he looked older as he ran out of the subway with long hair and little mountain man scraggles on his face. everyone was commenting on my skinny bod. I only assume I looked like absolute shit beforehand, because I think I still need a good deal of work. John and I played music and talked for an hour or two and then met up with ellen, who I think has epstein bar, seeming pooped beyond repair all weekend. she began a monsoon of kisses on john that didn't let up the whole weekeend. they were happy and it was a nice thing to see. I hung out at mcmannus after seeing curtis and john do some opposite of atlanta improv (quietly and slowly, carefully working up laughs like they were wine grapes.) mcmannus was fun, everyone was nice, too many new faces. like its my new hometown. you truly can never go back but it's nice to, just to see the faces of the folks that replaced you. friday we worked and it went so smoothly, so fast, without issue, I was is awe of what a well oiled machine my dj and I had become. we recorded three songs in one day, some better than others, none of them duds. we attempted to go out that night but it was a horrendous failure, packed karaoke with broadway singers, hot as balls weather that actually turned my balls into a faucet of sweat, jeans sticking to my legs, we met up with one of john's friends at one of those shi-shi get me the fuck out of here bar/hotels. he was cool, a fan than makes four times what I do, his girlfriend was cuntastic, one of those lame-o ivy leaguers that couldn't feign blue collar niceties even if they tried, and they don't. Saturday we got more done, it wasn't as startling as day one, but still good. and as always, whatever song I dislike the most, that's the other side's favorite, as was the case with yacht birds, a song that at first seemed laborious, but has since evolved into some kind of hallmark card complete with birds holding silver banners, flowers and fireworks. just needs a lil retoolin. saturday night I trekked out to wonderfully cheap and abandoned jc to see leavitt. She got me drunk and high and we both marveled at our atkins bodies. she's accomplished quite a bit more than I, losing 100 or so lbs. I could begin to see the true jean inside, waiting in the wings, desperate to just be a face and nothing more or less. we had a good laugh, boosted eachother's morale and then I was off into the rain which made me homesick for the monsoons of the atl. despite have less than ten bucks at this point, I slowly walked, soaked to the bone to the chicken master to buy some fries. a huge pile for a dollar. I missed you so, chicken shack. then I couldn't help but dip my head into the old man bar where the weekend festivites were in full flux. percussion instruments were out, not a lick of english was being spoken. I walk in and the bartender istantly recognizes me: Chris! I'm not sure if his name is Moses, but I say it anyway and it is. we shake and he fetches me a corona for two dollars. home. I headback to spanish harlem completely at peace. John and Ellen are quiet and ready to throw on a DVD. I'm feeling the third wheel and my clothes are soaked so I crash. Sunday we finish OWNS and robot dog and then I head to Laguardia to find my flight is delayed. some kids see my notebook with the network logo on it and I tell them that I'm dexter's voice, like they know who Hesh is. kids get excited, some fat dude in his thirties calls his cellphone to report to his friend that he's sitting next to Dexter. I give an especially sweet girl a network pen, she burned herself on her forehead witha curling iron, she desrves a pen at least. on the plane someone from the network is a couple rows ahead of me. she yawns like she doesn't see me. I get worried she'll report my dexter charade to her superiors. I don't give too much of a fuck and pass out. soon I'm home, my car is where I left it. I listen to my music till three and pass out. I haven't felt like eating sleeping drinking and or smoking since I got home. monday I was fine, editing, whipits, netflix. today, I'm in some sort of rut, feeling abused, neglected, lonely: all sorts of bad, can't put my finger on it. my demeanor is too revealing, boss keeps on asking me what's a matter? I tell him it's something personal and to not let it bother him. I can't pinpoint what i'm feeling. maybe I just need some sleep. let's hope that's it. vague ennui is worse than the regular kind. xomc

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