I like the idea of something bold. Something like Captain Fantastic Awesomepants. I feel it has a nice ring to it.

Things haven't been so hot on my end. But if I wanted you all to know about that, I would have told you all along. No, I can't say things have been that bad. But McGuinn said hello to me the other day. That says enough.

George, we'll never be speaking of that again, alrighty??

Nancy? Gretchen? McGuinn? Every woman in my life who isn't Emmy or Pam or Marsha or Margaret? This one's for you.

Riddle me this: I have resolutions for the new year. Though for all it's worth, time's rather irrelevant at this point. For instance, how long have I been here and how long will I be here? I'm here now and that's all that figures.

Even still, I figured it'd only be proper to make some promises.


It goes without saying that my first resolution is to be long gone from this place by the next new year.

But while I'm here and while I'm on this forced hiatus from my dearly missed reality I may as well get myself clean for good this time. No more smack or coke or speed or quaaludes or PCP or LSD or MDMA. I'd like to elect keeping to my marijuana and alcohol privileges, however...once I'm discharged from here, of course! Of course, of course.

I want to see Polly more. Nancy, if you'd be so kind as to maybe just leave her with me once in a while. You don't need to stick around, really. Ringo can help keep an eye on her.

Speaking of Ringo, I want to try and be a better friend and roommate, same goes for some of the other folks down the hall, here.

I guess this last one here is keeping Chris in mind. I really want to make this music project I'm in now keep working and not just let it fizzle and die. That's already easier said than done. It's going to be even harder where I am now. But I want to try.


Georgie and Dee? I'm thinking maybe you both ought to visit the old wing. I'm bribing you both with champagne.

Ringo--your present is with me. That means in order to find your present, you've got to find me.

Hint: the astronauts requested that the song be played as they hurtled back to earth in December '65.


Of course, this goes to the rest of you who feel as though I owe presents.

I miss you, old man.

Mr., Parsons--nee Connor--was last seen venturing toward the upper North wing of the hospital with a conspicuous box wrapped like a large Christmas present. This in itself is not alarming; however it is concerning, as Parsons has failed to return to his residence in the lower North wing. If anyone can clarify his whereabouts, please let a doctor or a nurse know (or oh-so-kindly direct him back toward his own level so that he may avoid future trouble). Happy Holidays, boys!

 

I figured that was worth saving. Just as a little momentum. I think it's funny that I'm a fugitive for not even leaving. And sorry, Ringo, I didn't mean to leave you by your lonesome. I'll be home for Christmas probably be back, soon. I don't think my plan's working out too well, anyhow.

Chris sent me a Christmas card, it's just lovely. It's probably the sweetest, least violent little keepsake I've ever obtained from him. I also really appreciate the picture of you and the new wife in there, too, Chris. She looks fuckin' sexy sweet.

I also got something from Nancy that's a little more concerning. Nancy, it appears you've sent me...a used pregnancy stick. That (thankfully) showed up negative that you penciled in "try again--better luck next time". Nancy, baby, I ask this with love, what the fuck?


Dee, George, and Chris (and possibly Ringo, maybe?): raptor hunting is still on for after Christmas (that's counting on your homomagic, Georgie), and that's probably when I'll give you your gifts.

Nancy, it sure was lovely that you came by to visit me by the way, I am not paying child support if you pulled some dirty trick to have my baby. I really did appreciate it.


Georgie and Dee: I think you (both) and I should be fixing to chase some dinosaurs. Bob sent me a letter tellin' me that this is the season. Being cold blooded beasts, we'd be at the advantage to their slowness.

I personally think we should set our sights on raptors.

I know my stalker ex Nancy is keeping track of me, so this is for her:

( cut cut cut to protect the innocent )

Remember that, baby?

I found an appropriate new addition to my scrapbook.

I get so down around the Holidays. By around the Holidays I mean the entire space between my birthday and Christmas day.

That's the excuse I'm using for my lack of interest in this scrapbook. Hell, that's the excuse I'm using for my lack of interest in everything.

My birthday came and went and I hardly noticed until someone had said so in passing.

Jesus Christ, am I lost.

It's funny how days go by when you find yourself wound up in recreational sports. Minus the sports. Oh, you lot are smart. Although I have to question that smartness seein' as I was able to even take part in those games.

Apologies to Dee Dee and George, whom I should've invited well in advance.

Next time, I swear it.

I haven't found any other good clippings to arrange into this thing, yet. I'm kinda scared to touch some of the magazines layin' about. I did see somethin' about the Stones on an open page of one. Freakin' out about the whole country direction they've started to take.

I can only imagine how much Keith doesn't care, if he even knows what kinds of things they're sayin'.


So I've been spending a lot of time with George Harrison as of late, just bonding over shared conflicts. Somehow that also means that I also happily associate with Dee Dee Ramone. It's an odd combination. Then again this is a rather odd place. The kind with vampires about, I've heard--specifically from one of said vampires.

I'm not sure whether it's still October. But more and more this place seems to be permanently implanted into some kind of freak Halloween.


Since gettin' here, I've learned a whole lot. It tickles me that I can say I've learned more here than at Harvard (but that's by choice). Dee Dee has advised me that I ought to shower with my clothes on. We've theorized some reasons why this is a plausible suggestion which in turn contributes to a scheme greater than what either of us could've pictured on our own.


More and more I like seein' this Dr. Tennant. He really, really is a nice guy.


You know who I haven't seen for a few days? McGuinn. Praise Jesus.

I overheard it, today, outside my room. Or maybe I just imagined it. It's always been an unkind term. But it's really fucking upsetting to hear the words "loony bin" especially, now. It places a bunch of people who might be freaks, longhairs, straightlaced, into a category not of their own. It's just a new category forceably formed for the throwaways.

That's where I'm at now, right?


Roger seems to like to come and harass me. He won't admit to what he's doing. But I know. And I know he shouldn't be doing that. He knows it, too. He also knows that he can't be my fairy princess. I know that because I know that he doesn't know how to sew, you know? I bet his ol' lady does...




I found that clipping in another magazine when I went out to brave the day room. Except it was the dead of night when no one else was there. I'm not so much observing as I am nursing a throbbing headache.

But that was a great summer. Keith and I had some great times outside this gig.

( Something I nicked from a magazine Keith reads that I decided would fit in nicely, here )


So I've taken to talking to this gentleman, here:



doctor david tennant

He's a nice enough guy. Actually, he's very respectable. He really appreciates his mama and doesn't seem to voice any regrets. And he brought me a surgical mask of my very own!


I've taken to reading the works of a guy named Nietzsche. He was reccomended to me some time ago by a good friend of mine who oddly enough isn't here. I particularly like this passage, so far:

The conditions under which any one understands me, and necessarily understands me--I know them only too well. Even to endure my seriousness, my passion, he must carry intellectual integrity to the verge of hardness. He must be accustomed to living on mountain tops--and to looking upon the wretched gabble of politics and nationalism as beneath him. He must have become indifferent; he must never ask of the truth whether it brings profit to him or a fatality to him... He must have an inclination, born of strength, for questions that no one has the courage for; the courage for the forbidden; predestination for the labyrinth. The experience of seven solitudes. New ears for new music. New eyes for what is most distant. A new conscience for truths that have hitherto remained unheard. And the will to economize in the grand manner--to hold together his strength, his enthusiasm...Reverence for self; love of self; absolute freedom of self.....

I was bestowed this fine, fine little notebook in order to keep "progress" of my "improvement". That'd be a great idea if it weren't so fuckin' condescending.

So instead, I'm going to use this vast plain of great space as a scrapbook!! That's a more positive, more creative outlook to this sort of thing. At least, I figure it is.



a good start

The more and more I think about it: I wouldn't much mind gettin' a band together again, after all.