Mind is splitting. Is this what insanity feels like? My sense of biography can only be told by the synchronous beats blaring through the buds in my ears. “Insanity is an accurate mind overtaxed,” they say. Well, what does that really mean?
Ooh…there’s Beatniks sitting across from me on the L train. Whoops, one of them got off on Bedford (typical). But that’s ok, because I like the other one better anyway: gelled hair, sky blue eyes, skinny twill pants, a grey blazer, a chain bracelet. I wonder if he knows I’m writing about him.
I remember there was a point in my life when I tried to get “hip” to the Beats, a little out of self-validation, but mainly to impress a certain guy. That slight nod you get from the literati when they see you reading And the Hippos were Boiled in Their Tanks or On the Road? Fucking A! But somewhere between reading OTR and Naked Lunch (which, I swear to God, has convinced me NEVER to do drugs), I realized I don’t really like Kerouac. I tried. I really did. But I just don’t get it. All I really got was Dean Moriarty’s insanity – I totally dug it. But why? Maybe it’s because I’ve always been attracted to offbeat types – and the less available they are – both physically and emotionally – the more I’m running towards them.
*laughs* Silly girl. Remember all those guys you used to pine for in school, writing in your notebook about how tragic unrequited love (or obsession or infatuation) was, or how you’d just dramatically sigh as you stare at the back of their head or across the room, hoping they’d turn around and give you that look like, “Hey, I get you,” but you really don’t want that to happen, because you’d look away. BUT…what happened the moment some of these guys expressed in interest in you? No more tragic pining or lust. So you go find the next emotionally available jerk to fall for…
Look, it’s your stop.