Then I saw her face… now I’m a belieber [sic].

Why, oh, WHY can I never sleep when I really need to? It’s almost 3am and I am getting up for work at 6am. And ANDNDDD this shit happens EVERYTIME I have to get up early. I can’t stand how much my brain hates me. For no good reason, I’ve just been laying in bed thinking.

Thinking about the last night I spent with a certain someone. And how she asked me to sing to her in bed. And how I just couldn’t seem to do it. So I went downstairs for my acoustic guitar. Laid in bed with it and sang/played very softly. Tonight, I thought about how stupid and clunky that was. I should be less self-conscious about singing without a guitar.

I once sang to a pretty girl on the phone. Years ago. It was maybe 2am or something. Everyone in the house was sleeping. And I was in the downstairs living room, singing to a pretty girl on the phone. Because she was relentless in her begging. I fucking hate that. And I fucking love that. Women. So powerful. Persuasive. Magic. “PLEEEEEAAAASE, Rob? It would mean a lot.” WTF! Why does this never work when I say this to people? Okay, fine, it does work for me, but that would defeat my own point. So. Women. Are crazy good at making me do things.

The song this particular girl got me to sing for her was this Blind Melon song:

I remember going to see “the one that got away” one time. I didn’t have much money at all. And somehow, I lost my bus ticket. So I just bought another one, even though that meant I’d be stuck in suburban Pennsylvania with no money and no way back to NY. But my brain went into this place. I was in love, and I missed this girl, and I was going to get to her regardless of circumstance. Man, she was pissed when I told her though! AND I got there at like VERY LATE O’CLOCK, when she was just coming home. Goddamn, it was worth it though. This was maybe 7 years ago now, but I still remember the length and thickness and placement of every single eyelash on this girl on that specific night. Beautiful, beautiful girl that drove me crazy.

When the thing with her ended (for the first of many times), I actually puked. I mean, you hear the thing about emotions making a person sick. I never felt anything THAT MUCH before. I didn’t cry, as I never seem to cry about my own life (just about the lives of people in bad movies). But I was sick. Crazy.

You know, it’s weird. I am thinking about this blog, and about the last ten years. There are so many things that I have yet to write about, and tons of things that I just… don’t tell people. I mean. I spent most of a year getting drunk in the High Desert. I took some pretty amazing road trips. I spent a few months living a VERY strange life in New Orleans. There were some bizarre and beautiful people in there, many whose names I don’t even remember, many I’ll never see again. God, there were SONGS written about these people, songs that will probably never be heard again. There were those years when I was political, and then that slid itself right into being completely paranoid and a near shut-in. There was the party house on NE Everett. There was a lot of pot smoking with famous musicians. God damn, I wish I had the follow-thru to write a book. And it’s weird, right?

I mentioned a long time ago here, that I used to lie constantly. To make myself seem cooler, because I wanted acceptance and admiration from my peers. But then I got older, led a totally weird life, and have a million strange stories of my own to share. But I don’t really tell the stories because I don’t want to be one of those people, you know? Those dickheads that sit around saying how fucking righteous they are all day? God, I can’t win, can I?

I’m reading a book called Less Than Zero. I guess it’s a modern classic or something? I’m only like 70 pages in, but I think it’s pretty cool so far. I don’t know if anything’s ever going to actually happen… but yeah, it’s okay. But the thing is, I could have written that book. The guy who wrote it is TERRIBLE, man. I mean he really kinda sucks at using big words, and imagery and all the grammar stuff. But the book is entertaining. The story isn’t even that cool, but the characters are odd enough to make me want to read on. So. I mean, I could do that shit. I’m bad with words and grammar and imagery, so far so good. And I think I’m a fairly interesting character. And I could probably make some people up, based on all the weird people I’ve ever met. Oh crap, and rehab! Oh, the stories I could tell about rehab!!

I don’t know. I guess my point is that maybe I will start telling some stories. I know I’ve said this before. But I have the guilt and worry. About trying too hard. But I guess I could just tell the stories out of… my desperation to have Oprah Dollars? I definitely want to get paid. And to not have a job. So I guess maybe I could exploit my mental illnesses, drug addictions, and my adventurishness… I don’t know. Fuck it, right?

Here’s another video, for the sake of breaking up this massive, mind-numbing post. So. This is good tunes by Metallic Falcons (a pretty great project with Sierra Casady from CocoRosie), a song called Snakes & Tea:

You guys don’t think I should just work retail forever, right? And I’m probably too weird to ever get over the fear of success thing, so my musical career will probably stay where it is. But writing is cool because I’d never have to leave the house if I didn’t want to. Yeah. That’s a good point.

Maybe I can start telling A LOT of my stories. And then I’ll have them here. And THEN I can just organize them into some sort of timeline. And then THAT could be how I write a book! I mean, I wouldn’t even NEED an attention span for that! Okay, this is good thinking.

I once told my most recent girlfriend, “Don’t be weirded out if I become a religious cult-leader someday.” I also told her, another time, “Remember when I once told you that I might start a cult eventually? You know I was being very serious, right? Will you still love me when this happens?” I think she said yes, but I didn’t believe her.

I’m going back to bed now.

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About R. Spacely

Bastard.
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11 Responses to Then I saw her face… now I’m a belieber [sic].

  1. jaminicole says:

    Write. Please please please write. Because I love your blogs and everything. But blogs can’t convey the kinds of stories that I think you have. I’d imagine they’re bigger, better stories than a blog can contain. So please write a lot more. Collect things. Gather them into something awesome because really, it’s heartbreaking when a person has so many stories and never tells them the way they need to be heard.

    If you need any feedback, let me know. There’s nothing I miss more from college than ripping into someone’s heart and soul and tearing their work to shreds. In a constructive way, of course.

    • Well this is all pretty encouraging. I will keep you posted on new developments. Maybe I might just start a new blog, and use it specifically to write down and remember the old stories. Because when I write here, I always feel like I have to stop before 1,500 words otherwise everyone will hate me. And I always try to add pictures and links to break up the monotony. But yeah, a new blog with no cares for what people think, with the long-term intention of putting it all together somehow? That sounds like a smart idea.

      Anyway, yes. Thank you, miss.

  2. estelle says:

    your blog makes me sad. You are so good at capturing those beautiful moments in life where you briefly think everything is going to be ok now and then life pulls the carpet out from under your feet and you look back at that day you were so happy and it makes you feel heartbroken and happy all at once.

  3. Tom says:

    I’m catching up on a week’s worth of posts, and seriously don”t worry about the length of your posts, the more the better. I’m really trying not to make a ‘size matters’ penis joke here, but it’s difficult. I really wouldn’t stop at 1500. At the end of the day, it’s your blog so you should write how you want to write – and you write so well I don’t think longer posts would put anyone off.

    Your stories are wicked, and they should keep coming. If you do start another blog for them, let me know where it is.

  4. Chris says:

    Dude. You don’t want to work at home. It will ruin your mind. Take it from me.

    I’ve been doing freelance web design the whole summer and, although the money is very good, the mental consequences are just unbearable. You don’t have the same sense of accomplishment from a paycheck. You don’t see people. You begin mixing work with pleasure and it soon becomes impossible to enjoy things.

    I just started working at a box factory and it is fucking awesome. School is about to start too (i’m a senior) so I will be out of the house most days of the week. This is how it should be. Of course I can still do freelance web design on the side and make a shitload of money. I am just requiring myself to work elsewhere for a certain amount of time per week.

    Take it from me: work 15-20 hours elsewhere if you want to become a freelance writer, author or anything that doesn’t require you to get outside your house.

    Been reading your blog BTW. It’s interesting to read about total strangers from the first person. Your pretty good at expressing yourself, saying it like it is and not letting the words or embellishment get in the way. Most people, when they start writing, are all like “The setting sun bore down speedily over the horizon and caused my heart to utter a joyful and gleeful cry.”

    Fuck that. Write like you would speak. Write like you are having a conversation with someone.

    • Uhh… “thanks?” I’m not really needing career/time-management advice right now. But I’m probably glad you’re reading. Unless you turn out to be a douche. Which, judging by the pompous tone of your last comment, well… I’m not sure about you yet.

      • Chris says:

        Was that really a pompous comment?

        I didn’t mean for it to be. It was actually aimed at being sort of a compliment but apparently I missed the mark.

        My comment was in regards to this:
        “But writing is cool because I’d never have to leave the house if I didn’t want to.”

        Just thought I’d let you know what my experience is with the whole never leaving the house thing …

      • Chris says:

        On second though: fuck you.

        And good luck with your life. Asshole.

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