why is there always something?
Mar. 20th, 2004 04:38 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
deathboydamn.
I get back after a top night to the second strangest mail I've had.
There was a girl who liked my stuff, who I talked to a bit via mail.
She'd decided she liked me a lot. I tried to be a friend, but explain that as well as being already taken, I'm hardly desirably property.
Her mom mailed our band list. It read that she meant it just for me, but I guess sometimes people don't get that stuff right.
Apparently, she's now in a juve-centre, for stabbing a girl. The girl's ok, now, it seems.
Her mom sounds destroyed.
Sounds like the girl's away for... good. Or thereabouts.
And, in mailing me, says she considered me a great friend... and imagined she loved me for a time... but got over that.
I found it horrible to try to tell her stuff was bad, and that I cared, but couldn't possibly be this thing she'd made me into. But it'd be more foul to fuck about, so I said just that.
She wrote me a letter. I took ages wondering if I should even reply, because I didn't want to foster a hope of something to her that wouldn't be what she wanted it to be. I eventually mailed her back, thanking her for the letter. Trying to offer a fool's advice. Trying to tell her to look elsewhere for idols and influence, keep her head together, look for the good stuff. All that... All that... shit.
Her mom said that she considered me a great friend.
So. Did I do right?
Did I do right?
Because I clearly didn't help anyone.
The kid who came and moshed with us backstage in Toronto, who I have video clips of, flinging salad-dressing at Lee with a giant spoon, a grin on his face and salad in his hands...
... when his girlfriend emailed me to say he'd killed himself, but that he was really happy 'cos we let him come play, that he got to get smashed with a band he liked, and play jousting and fencing with celery, chairs, salsa and sarcasm...
I didn't feel like I'd been much of a friend.
I didn't feel like my music had **QUITE** achieved its objective.
I didn't feel happy or proud that this person had heard my shit at all. Ever.
I have tried to write stuff that makes you hate what's wrong 'n bad, rather than hating yourself.
I've tried to embody a righteousness of someone wronged and upset... looking for some way to FIX what's fucked.
Not wallowing, not festering, not tearing strips of yourself.
god.
the thing I do for money is that I'm a toymaker.
Games for phones. Consoles. Browsers.
I make toys.
Things to entertain and distract you for a while.
Raise a fuckin' smile.
Not this.
Not this.
I never signed up for this.
I make toys.
I only wanted to make toys.
I get back after a top night to the second strangest mail I've had.
There was a girl who liked my stuff, who I talked to a bit via mail.
She'd decided she liked me a lot. I tried to be a friend, but explain that as well as being already taken, I'm hardly desirably property.
Her mom mailed our band list. It read that she meant it just for me, but I guess sometimes people don't get that stuff right.
Apparently, she's now in a juve-centre, for stabbing a girl. The girl's ok, now, it seems.
Her mom sounds destroyed.
Sounds like the girl's away for... good. Or thereabouts.
And, in mailing me, says she considered me a great friend... and imagined she loved me for a time... but got over that.
I found it horrible to try to tell her stuff was bad, and that I cared, but couldn't possibly be this thing she'd made me into. But it'd be more foul to fuck about, so I said just that.
She wrote me a letter. I took ages wondering if I should even reply, because I didn't want to foster a hope of something to her that wouldn't be what she wanted it to be. I eventually mailed her back, thanking her for the letter. Trying to offer a fool's advice. Trying to tell her to look elsewhere for idols and influence, keep her head together, look for the good stuff. All that... All that... shit.
Her mom said that she considered me a great friend.
So. Did I do right?
Did I do right?
Because I clearly didn't help anyone.
The kid who came and moshed with us backstage in Toronto, who I have video clips of, flinging salad-dressing at Lee with a giant spoon, a grin on his face and salad in his hands...
... when his girlfriend emailed me to say he'd killed himself, but that he was really happy 'cos we let him come play, that he got to get smashed with a band he liked, and play jousting and fencing with celery, chairs, salsa and sarcasm...
I didn't feel like I'd been much of a friend.
I didn't feel like my music had **QUITE** achieved its objective.
I didn't feel happy or proud that this person had heard my shit at all. Ever.
I have tried to write stuff that makes you hate what's wrong 'n bad, rather than hating yourself.
I've tried to embody a righteousness of someone wronged and upset... looking for some way to FIX what's fucked.
Not wallowing, not festering, not tearing strips of yourself.
god.
the thing I do for money is that I'm a toymaker.
Games for phones. Consoles. Browsers.
I make toys.
Things to entertain and distract you for a while.
Raise a fuckin' smile.
Not this.
Not this.
I never signed up for this.
I make toys.
I only wanted to make toys.
