by Megan Boyle
he said ‘i’m not even bringing my keys, i’m not even…turning off the music, i’m not turning off the lights.’ i was grinning really big, breathing through my mouth, moving fast, getting my keys. we left hurriedly. i thought for a minute we’d walk then he said ‘we’re taking the car, right?’ and i said ‘yeah, yeah, the car, yeah, fast.’ on the way there we decided to hurl it into the river. i said ‘maybe it will grow like, a thing. bounty. fortune.’
parked. walked towards the water with the watermelon bag and whiskey bag. pointed at a cloud and said ‘look, it looks pink.’ he said ‘yeah, it does.’ the lights looked really pretty. reminded me of a night in ohio with tao, when we did mushrooms before we were dating, walked along a beach by a city. i pointed at the bridge and said ‘i can’t believe the lights are really changing color, that’s really what…’ ex-boyfriend said ‘yeah, that’s what they did with that money.’ a group of people were standing by the water. ex-boyfriend said ‘oh no’ and i said ‘no, they’re doing bad things too.’
i said ‘take a picture of me.’ he said ‘what is this, hipstermatic? wasn’t there a thing called that?’ i said ‘hipstamatic, yeah, i had that,’ climbing over more rocks than i thought there would be. there was confusion about whether the bag would be thrown. the bag was not to be used. i lifted the watermelon out of the bag and threw it as hard as i could. when it landed it made an ‘UFF’ sound. ex-boyfriend said ‘UFF’ like how rick ross says it, in a way we’ve referenced a lot, that i think started because of something victoria trott tweeted about how her dog sometimes makes an ‘UFF’ sound like rick ross.
investigated watermelon landing area. took another picture. ex-boyfriend poured whiskey into two ‘florida’ shot glasses we found in abandoned trailer months ago. we drank the shots. i threw mine at my face more than i drank it. a lot dripped down the sides of my face. i was laughing. ex-boyfriend said something and i said about 11% of it didn’t make it in my mouth.
i said ‘we did it, it’s over.’ ex-boyfriend said ‘it can be better now peg, see? see, now we can make other stuff for dinner: i’ll buy mushrooms and avocado, because lately when i’ve been making rice and beans i find it’s nice to have a bite of cooked vegetables and rice AND avocado’ and i was touching his arm and being like ‘yeah yeah!’ and jumping/jogging a little as we walked to the car.
at fine wine & good spirits, someone had spilled something and they were mopping it up. i said ‘that would be a good game, ‘guess that smell of that alcohol.” ex-boyfriend said it was white wine. i said ‘no, it’s one of those weird cupcake-y things. one of those things i always say i’m going to buy. i’m going to actually buy one of those things this time.’ he said ‘okay’ excitedly, kind of. i selected a bottle of something apparently brandless, with a beach graphic on a label that said ‘i’m coconuts for you.’ ex-boyfriend said he had tried it at an in-store tasting and liked it. there was a long line.
returned to apartment. ex-boyfriend fixed dinner while i typed most of this. ate around 9:15PM.
during dinner we listened to hall & oates and said things about the ‘i’m coconuts for you’ bottle. read everything on the bottle. the bottle seems insane.
10:18PM: can hear him reading, drinking whiskey, sighing sometimes in bedroom. i’m in the next room, ‘the living room,’ where we keep the TV and a couch. the rooms are small, like 13’ × 6’, just narrow enough to maneuver around furniture. looks like they were just squeezed in to the renovations or something. hastily separated doors. maximum tiny room tolerance. someone thought it would make more money as a ‘technically’ two-bedroom apartment, for families.
there is a lot more i want to be saying…a lot i’m leaving out…distracted. i’m downloading ‘the fighter.’ we have plans to watch ‘the fighter.’
MARCH 24, 2013
2:02AM: kept pausing movie to say funny things to each other. am sort of drunk now. just had heated argument with ex-boyfriend about things like the show ‘girls’ and thought catalog being ‘bad art’ or something. felt something big in my chest now saying like, ‘it doesn’t matter what you do, just, no matter what you do, as long as you find something you like, you’re going to die, everyone’s just trying to do the best they can, it doesn’t matter,’ (don’t remember what i said). he said ‘i drank beer in brooklyn, i know what it’s like, that show is made for people who are afraid of something (…), it caters to people’s ideas and fears about post-college life’ and i said ‘it doesn’t matter, enough people like it, i’ve felt stuff like the people on the show feel, maybe it’s stupid but maybe for some people that’s real, it doesn’t matter, if it entertains people then so what, we’re just all trying to do the best we can.’ repeated ‘we’re all just trying to do the best we can’ maybe three times. said ‘i’ve had enough of this, this is stupid, i can’t talk to you if you think like this’ and left and am in living room now.
i said…earlier in the movie we paused it, via me saying something about how the cops were being fucked up to mickey and dickey, like it was fucked up that the cops didn’t get in trouble for breaking mickey’s hand. then that lead to a conversation about government and anarchy. i said ‘it’s all just always the same thing, people are just always afraid of each other.’ ex-boyfriend seemed to agree and said things about jesus and believing jesus was saying nice things and he was crying a little. i agreed with everything he was saying. i kissed his face and he said ‘don’t do that because…’ i said ‘i’m doing it because i want to do it, not because i think you’re trying to get me to do it.’
referenced jesus in argument just now. like. i said something really stupid. i don’t know much about jesus. i said ‘jesus would be like: love people, people will never think the same things, it’s okay, don’t hurt each other, you’re all still people, you all ended up in bodies one day, the best thing to do is be nice to each other and not make each other feel bad.’ forget what he said, i don’t think i gave him a chance to respond. went to kitchen for water, then to our room to get a bigger bottle, which he seemed ready to volunteer. i said ‘what you’re saying is fucked up, like, you think one person’s experience of life or art or whatever is inherently better than another person’s, i think that’s so fucked up, that’s like, the same line of thinking as nazis or whatever.’ something on his phone was making a noise. collected computer cord to take with me to the living room. he said ‘where are you going?’ seemed like if i said i was going home he would’ve gotten upset the way he does when i’ve driven back to baltimore after drinking and arguments.
heard him hovering by living room door. i locked it. he said ‘oh, okay.’ i’m not mad at him. this idea he has just seems shitty, has always seemed shitty…we argue about ‘my writing’ and this…related things…how i’m producing shitty things…seems so…goddamnit. it makes me like. i’m. wish i could…make something come out of me. shit a giant shit or shit bullets out my ass into nothing.
want to make something clear.
i don’t give a fuck if you think there is good or bad art.
i give a MAJOR FUCK if you think other people are more entitled to make art, or that more people deserve to exist than others.
i’m crying right now…thinking…of people…no, i’m not crying. almost. i almost did. YOU HONESTLY THINK ONE PERSON HAS MORE OF A RIGHT TO MAKE SOMETHING, AN ART PRODUCT, FOR ENTERTAINMENT, THAT TELLS THE WORLD WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE THEM, THAN ANYONE ELSE?!?!
HONESTLY????
CAN ANYONE HONESTLY…
you’re just bitter because you think you’re so great but you don’t have an audience—and that’s the thing. the most fucked up thing. is that you want attention WAY MORE than ‘girls’…HBO…fucking…thought catalog…whatever…the things you think people just make for attention. or that no, you think you’re DESERVING of attention. like, a smarter kind of attention. because your ‘art’ is better, because you don’t make it for attention, which is why you think anyone who gets attention for art must’ve made it, but you don’t even make it
anymore because we’re all too stupid to like ‘appreciate’ it, because you don’t want people to read something by you and think ‘any idiot could say that’ and forget you, you want them to think ‘not just any idiot could say that, wow, will i ever be the same again? will the world?’ it’s the same thing. attention. that is so idiotic, especially factoring in other shit you say about meaninglessness and…goddamnit. i’m drunk. what i’m saying right now is not accurate. can hear music from his ipad. i’m abusing liveblog. just heard him say ‘STOPPPPP,’ from bedroom. makes me want to make more typing sounds type more sdkjsd sdfj osdijf osos os jduiu fosidoi fl s dsoi s di fid jjjdf osih ih hdjdjd hjiffd kjdkdk fkd k dkf dkfjsldfjsoj sk jd f dijf so ij sd fos difj oijdfoi ii j oisd fo oijd id fijoijoid di id di oijoijoisjdfoij ij idjfidjifjdosif oisjoidfjsodifj oij sd oijijifdfd d d d shd oiio„„, dddd sdfjdsio sos jsodifjsoifj s ddjfdifj osdijfs dd d e ejskjdohf s d df os s dnf s doihfoid sliek i am fsell soinf sit sodesnt matter i’sms just typing this gto make him angry because he io = ois think ih e no want no hear typy etype tyepetype!!!!!!!!
2:34AM: he g-chatted in ambiguously friendly manner about finishing the movie. maybe i’m misreading something. this has been a major disagreement, like, an argument we have repeatedly. there is no reason for me to be here. no matter how many jokes we make…like…i don’t know. still going to feel bad, to be around someone who thinks like this, and that things i’ve written, or things i want to say…is…that basically my experience of life is ‘bad art.’ drunk. ranting. going to my car to smoke a non-judgmental cigarette.
2:39AM: feels bad out here, alone over here. 1504 north 4th street. philadelphia. nothing to do but this. type into a computer. fear getting cigarettes because if the guy in the room next to you hears you walk outside, he’ll think you’re leaving ‘for good.’ you’ll have to say ‘no i just want to get cigarettes,’ when you don’t want to say anything or do anything ever, at all. the end. i liked watching ‘the fighter,’ though.
3–5:00AM(?): had another fight. depressed. cried a lot. got better somehow. he came out with me to my car. smoked a cigarette while he sat beside me and we didn’t say much. ‘heaven or hell’ by volbeat came on the radio. it’s an ‘our song’ song, we heard it on the drexel college radio station last spring and were surprised by how stupid it sounded and how much we liked it. ex-boyfriend said ‘i would pay eighty dollars to see dipset and volbeat play together, but like…not forty dollars to see dipset play and forty dollars to see volbeat play.’ went inside. things felt better. drank picklebacks. he made a point to get water in cans, we were refilling cans with water a lot.
i was crying lightly the whole time i think, saying things about my mom, how my life is stupid. remember asking him to read me a story he liked out loud. he wanted to make a video but stopped reading not long after he started. camera ended up recording us crying, talking about buying a gun, vacationing somewhere nice for a week and then shooting ourselves. have discussed doing this in the past. always feel better after talking about this. at least one thing is in our control, or something. ex-boyfriend vomited a lot, i lined a big stew pot with a garbage bag to put by the bed. think he doesn’t want me to include video, i haven’t watched.
2:45PM–4:55PM: woke, had sex. acting kind and funny to each other. i’m sitting at kitchen table naked except for a big red cardigan. watched youtube on ex-boyfriend’s ipad: guided by voices documentary, videos of people playing ‘pokemon wifi,’ i think a heems video because i said heems was like blastoise, started to watch howard stern interview with henry rollins but i am hungry. getting ready to go eat pho now.
2:45–10PM: the main events:
• ate pho at ‘pho ta’ on 11th st
• drove by j.r.’s (bar where party animal would play later tonight)
• parked near south street to see dan at dan’s store
• store closed
• walked to essene, bought chocolate chip scone
• walked to ‘mostly books’
• walked to whole foods and i shat
• walked to rite aid where i got ‘azo standard’ (that’s my vulnerable reveal of the day: it hurts me to pee after sex sometimes, it’s not an STD, i get UTIs a lot, since i was like, eight years old, i don’t know. burning urgency, extreme pee pain. think it’s related to the distance between my asshole and vagina hole. maybe a flesh tunnel…i don’t know. body conspiring against me. azo standard turns your pee bright red. okay. there you have it. secret is out.)
• walked to car
• gave kool a.d. one molly pill after party animal show
11:33PM: writing this about to watch ‘da vinci code’ will update later
MARCH 25, 2013
2:32AM: fell asleep during ‘davinci code.’ we kept pausing movie to make funny comments. we did that last night with ‘the fighter’ also, pausing to comment. i wanted our commentary to be filmed, both nights. ex-boyfriend is so funny. as soon as i posted thing from last night, ex-boyfriend read it in bed. i was getting dressed. seemed to make getting dressed difficult. said things about how it was difficult.
3:13AM: laying beside ex-boyfriend in bed, waiting for ‘angels and demons’ to download on my computer. he’s looking at his ipad. i’m sleepy and not quite sober from nap. he just said ‘there are six-hundred eleven-thousand, two-hundred ninety-six living people on wikipedia’s ‘living people’ page.’ as i was typing that he left the room.
3:45AM: ex-boyfriend returned with hot sauce and styrofoam box, said ‘i put hot sauce on everything’ as he got in bed. i picked up the calzone and said ‘yeah, why do you always put hot sauce on everything? you’re always making things so hot.’ he laughed a little and said “why do you always put hot sauce on everything,’ she said, holding a thing bigger than her face.’
4:06AM: now we’re drinking whiskey, watching ‘angels and demons.’ shirley jumped onto the bed and started kneading me. i said ‘shirley likes her men like she likes her whiskey: neat.’ ex-boyfriend said ‘i like my women like i like my whiskey: cold.’ i said ‘i like my women like i like my whiskey: aged for…over many years, in a barrel. an oak barrel. in kentucky,’ vaguely aware of referencing a jack handey quote about women and coffee. ex-boyfriend laughed as if he was unaware of the quote.
4:30AM: we weren’t making as many funny comments as last night. i said ‘can you get me a glass of ice?’ in a fran drescher voice. he rolled his eyes. heard the sink running and teeth-brushing sounds. he came back with an ice tray, making an over-the-top annoyed face. i said ‘thank you. i’ll always be your pope.’ he said ‘i don’t want you, i just want cory,’ and pulled over most of the covers. i said ‘oh i see you’ve got your. your blankets, there.’ he said ‘here take this,’ and transferred my computer from his lap onto mine. i was grinning. he said ‘i hate you, you’re so annoying.’ i laughed like ‘hehehehehehe.’ he said ‘hurry up, hurry up, come on.’
5:28AM: started re-reading liveblog after it became clear that ex-boyfriend was sleeping. he stirred in bed and saw ‘angels and demons’ and liveblog on-screen. i said ‘i’ll. i can just move this. into the other. i’ll move this into the other room.’ brushed teeth. ex-boyfriend rarely doesn’t brush before bed and i got in the habit.
5:58AM: sitting on couch in living room. renewed interest in updating/writing. shirley is curled up in a ball by my lower back. thought ‘i know you don’t know what you want out of life but you’re 27 and some people know how to fly helicopters by now.’
7:35AM: i’ve been drinking ‘i’m coconuts for you’ out of the bottle and reading this on living room couch, next to a sleeping shirley. it is snowing and no longer nighttime. want a cigarette. not tired. i miss my apartment in baltimore. i was so happy then. there were things i was trying to do, that. i felt i was. trying. hoping. things were happening. there was hope. i was. how did i get so old.
here is what it says, exactly what it says, in the description area on the back of the ‘i’m coconuts for you’ ‘original bartenders premium selection’ bot
tle, reproducing the text exactly right now for you, so you understand:
ORIGINAL BARTENDERS
“I’M COCONUTS OVER YOU”
A Local Caribbean band played a laid-back melody they called “I’m Coconuts Over You.” The club bartender loved it. He decided to make a drink which would go with music. Starting with extra fine aged Rum he added all natural coconut. Soon everyone in the club went wild. Hearing the band play and drinking “I’m Coconuts Over You.”
Enjoy on ice with Cola.
it’s just this thing: here it is. here it is, for anyone. that’s how it introduces itself. this, in this way. it’s. jesus, there’s no way to talk about this without it sounding condescending, but what i feel is affection and sadness, towards a sad thing of the world. i want to be in jordan’s car that morning we stayed up all night and picked mal up from work and went to whole foods. it was this fall. i miss them a lot. ‘i’m coconuts over you’ jesus goddamn fuck. need to be re-baptised or something.
3–4:15PM: woke thinking/dreaming i was talking to ex-boyfriend. asked if he wanted to go to the library and he said ‘yes’ and i went back to sleep. woke several times, unsure if we had been mid-conversation. saw him drinking whiskey. saw him enter bedroom with leftovers and say ‘it’s so coagulated’ about the cheese. saw him enter bedroom with beer cans maybe twice.
