“Strange memories on this nervous night in Las Vegas. Has it been five years? Six? It seems like a lifetime, the kind of peak that never comes again. San Francisco in the middle sixties was a very special time and place to be a part of. But no explanation, no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were there and alive in that corner of time and the world. Whatever it meant ”
- Johnny Depp, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
These posts are always the most fucked up ones to write.
The ones where you want to pen down your feelings. When you need to choose between letting yourself loose and being unapologetic about it, and between the usual analyzing, postulating and self counseling crap you’re wont to find here. When you realize that writing about it doesn’t help you deal with the shit…it just dilutes whatever precious little you do feel about anything anymore.
I’ve packed the rest of my stuff from the room…and will be handing in the keys tomorrow. There were visions of being the last rebel here…blaring the music louder than ever, breaking the rest of the champagne glass set, stocking up on booze and cigarettes and pot and movies and porn…just for that one last frigging day. It’s a cliché I can’t bear to recreate anymore.
This be the moment where one wishes he hadn’t forgotten how to cry. The booze could do the trick…but 2 hours later, he’d wake up and feel the same way abt stuff. So all he’s left with is a half filled Word doc, and the mess in his head.
Currently listening : Time to take her home - The stone temple pilots.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
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