ACCOZZAGLIA

even if i had to walk three miles to do it.

specifically, i came to a jamba juice inlaid in a whole foods in the heart of blondeville. whee.

a quick parking lot inventory: a mid-60s-something corvette convertible, a new beetle, countless SUVs, a dousing of mercedes and lexus badges (conspicuous consumption, see), the most hideous cadillac i’ve ever seen, a healthy dosing of saabs and volvo’s (gotta get the nørdic quotient in, you know) and a smattering of audis and bmws.

i don’t like what i see. and yet, people actually aspire to this? i mean, even the haircuts here look canned and contrived, as if everyone here is a card-carrying lifetime member of a sorority or fraternity.

and so blonde.

but this is not why i came here to write.

this is temporary clarity and respite from my home, which i often find myself feeling imprisoned by. no longer does it feel warm and inviting. either i’ve opened my eyes to realise this far-too-obvious fact, or else i’ve outgrown it.

oh look. there goes a white one.

without realising how fast this happened, suddenly i find myself in a particularly unusual place that could either lead to tremendous risk or to tremendous risk with a lifetime of many happy returns. and the situation isn’t singlefold.

oh look. an anorexic acura owner sucking down a fag. she looks so happy.

i fell in love. this follows after being tended and patiently listened to after the most difficult part of my life thus far. 2001. longtime soulmate svairini and new lifetime friend and counterpart shimmerydeath brought me through the absolutely and intolerably harsh hell that comprised of more things than i care to recount right now.

not only has someone fallen in love with me as i have them, i’ve also carried the capacity to care for others in need — something which i was simply incapable of doing for so damn long.

and here i am. i find myself being the unexpected mentor to people who have yet to go through much of what i’ve survived, and as someone who’s come through intact and with some answers, i want to be sure that i can impart this knowledge their way, so that they don’t have to make the same mistakes i once did and save them a bit of the grief. it’s presumptuous to say who these people are, and for all i know, i’m probably playing no impact whatsoever in their lives. maybe i just like to think that i’m being useful or helpful to them, where i’m probably being of no use.

oh. a new porsche black convertible. that’s about as exciting as borscht.

i can’t believe i left nyc three weeks ago. already. summer’s half over. my best friend is a month away from moving, and between her taking care of yauvanzri as her temporary legal guardian and me leaving town for a week in early august, i’m not sure how often (or if) we’re going to get to hang out like we’ve arguably taken for granted for the last five years. time is about to run out, and well, that’s pretty sobering for me.

oh joy. a jag. what’s not here?

the economy is still shite, what with shrub acting more like hoover every day, and i’m not sure how much money i’ll be able to summon for skool come fall 2003. and yet, there’s so much i still have to take care of before then: josephine’s fate, bsi work, bringing my G4 current, clearing my credit, the future of the djing equipment and marketing itinerary. and, well, more stuff than i care to elucidate here.

o. mi. gwad. a cadillac pickup truck. no, really. i’m not making this up. it’s called a blackwood. ewww.

[to the het couple at the next table making fun of gay people in some mainstream rag: the world so much bigger than either of you ever will be. don't ever forget that, alright?]

i guess it all comes down to the fact that — yay, once again — i’m a little scared of the same old scene: losing old friends, losing new friends, fucking up things gracelessly, proving that i’m not as swank as others seem to try to make me out to be. i don’t want to fail those i care about. not this time. not again.

call me concerned. call me a worrywort. but in this case, don’t call me crazy. i know that i’m sane and lucid, and insanity isn’t the ishoo.

i just want to make sure that everthing works out for everyone in the end. but short of keeping things just as they are — the most inorganic thing i can envisage, really — the harrowing task is to maintain as much of this good rest stop in life as i can once everyone ends up in their respective places.

oh, don’t listen to me. i’m just spoutng contrived, angst-riddled crap that veronica in the flic heathers might, if only she actually existed.