This can be a void, this can be a portal, this can be everything ... OMG, it's like OurChart. JK. It's absolutely nothing like OurChart. If it was, I'd have 100 million readers and webisodes starring Rose Rollins and cute professional lesbians in hoodies. JK, they don't have 100 million readers. Also, I'm a professional lesbian in a hoodie.
Also, there was a time when I only wrote about funny things on here, when I was illusive to the point of almost complete disassociation. I just made jokes! Wanna know what happened? [Also: There are still mostly jokes, obvs, even in this post, if you look closely!]
OK, I'll tell you: I surrendered to my computer. There was a fight. My computer just sat there, like a sleeping bunny in the shape of a machine, and so I didn't want to fight it anymore, it was so kind and white and fluffy. I was tired.
Here's what else happened: I had this rule when I started Auto-Win never to say who I was dating, and I figured, always, you can read between the lines, it's clear, usually, if you care enough to pay attention -- not that anyone should. But if you want to. There are photographs, and comments, and allusions, whatever.
And then that rule done brizoke. And then it just kept gathering speed and things played out and fell apart ... and in between meeting and finally leaving is falling in love and then also all this other stuff; I had So Many Secrets, I was a professional tongue-holder, there were so many things I wasn't allowed [permitted] to talk about and that I still have not talked about. So I had to say something real, some kind of half-truth, to someone otherwise I would've died. But still, I think I mostly still stick to jokes. Here I go: ME MEMEMEME. ME.
[I feel like I'm repeating myself all the time now!! Am I?! I have so many conversations in different formats these days I cannot keep track!]
On Monday night, I stayed up all night talking to someone I'd never spoken to before, a commenter who's always been superior at reading between the lines. Extraordinary, really, this girl, compelling: building new geometry. I was bad at geometry. If I knew how to prove things in numbered lists, I'd probably be more successful in general than I am.
We talked about this; this whole blog-i-verse. How the real becomes so much chaos and feels nothing like the reality you were informed of when you first got yourself born and were told life was a certain thing; it involved eating and sleeping, giving love and getting it back, having dreams and then realizing them, etc., etc.
Then Dana died.
JK. Then you woke up. Then you sank into a little hole and then you realised that hole had a keyboard.
Who are you, all of you who read every post but never say anything? You don't have to say anything, of course. It's fine. I am totes contentified by the ones that do. But still, I'm intrigued just the same. Are you hot? Do you work for HBO? Are you gay? Are you fun? Are you a boy? Are you a weirdo? Have we slept together?
So this is what I'm doing right now for the first time since like, '06. I am just going to write some stuff and then post it. No editing, no second-guessing, no thematic whatever. Just: here. Ramble ramble. Remarkable that the other shit I post is actually edited, yeah? Because it still goes ramble ramble ramble.
Dear New York City: They call you "the city that never sleeps." I think that might be why you are so bat-shit crazy. Some call you "The Big Apple," which doesn't make sense. There is nothing about you that reminds me of apples.
I don't stay up all night, that's not my thing. I don't sleep very often either, but I like at least 4-5 hours a night.
Question for All Readers, Please Answer in Comments: How many hours a night do you sleep, usually? Do you ever go without? How's that working out for ya, being clever? (JK, that's a movie reference, who knows it?)
Other people pull all-nighters all the time, because other people are cooler than me. It's a contest: whomever sleeps the least wins. The less you sleep, the more important you are. Haven't you seen "The West Wing"? No one sleeps on that show and they run the country. Does that scare you? That everyone in charge of this country hasn't slept?
Have you seen "Hey Paula"?
iii. "Neighbourhoods will try to dream while you and me we hold and lean." (Stars)
We are always asking each other "Shouldn't you be asleep?" "Have you slept?" We chug Red Bull and coffee and popping pills and doing whatever it takes to stay awake, to do everything we can before the roof caves in or it floods. We stand before our beds and wonder why there is so much stuff on them and not our bodies.
I have moved my office from the living room to the roof. [And took these photos there, obvs] I should have a party up here. This is the best part of the city; roofs. Like in the movies. I haven't been up here in so long because the last time I was here, I was given a pretty stern lecture about my position in the Kingdom of Heaven and my apparent denial of Eternal Life. Really? Eternal life? You mean we can do this FOREVER? 'Cause it's really fun right now, let's please keep going. Push me. No wait. Don't. I'm jumping. Wait. I can't. This is the opposite of jumping, whatever this is. Hold me.
I am right now reclaiming the roof, just like I had to reclaim my life and Depeche Mode. And my lines.
2007 has been the Year That Never Sleeps, I've seen the sun rise too many times as it's been nothing if not unstable:
-Monday mornings when I'd still be pounding out an "L Word" recap in my imaginary race with scribegrrl.
-Team Rebound, up all night on iChat: "can't sleep, should sleep, wired," the early insomniac days, wanting a cure but also I think just wanting light. Waiting for it but not knowing or remembering that it always comes at the same time, like clockwork. Obvs.
-Writing that goddamn article for [redacted] magazine.
-[her] love, love, love, mania, love, mania, mania, love, love, love, mania, mania, love, mania, love, love, love, love, maninamanaiamania
-Maggie would be in the kitchen too by the coffee-maker, fucking Folgers. I hate the smell of coffee in an NYC apartment. It turns something awful.
So Monday night, I was on the phone for six hours and afterwards all I could do was lie in bed and think over the conversation. Then I had to get up and actually Go Places, Be Places, and kept waiting for the moment when I'd start to hallucinate or become some kind of manic genius. That never happened. Sometimes I felt like my throat was going to swallow my face. That didn't actually happen either. Actually I still feel like that.
[Sometimes I think sometimes this blog is an exercise in passive aggressiveness, 'cause in real life, I'm pretty passive-passive or aggressive-aggressive. Unless I'm in some kind of special situation that somehow prevents my freedom of speech. So maybe I'm being passive aggressive. OMG someone should start a blog and call it "passive aggressive blog."]]
I am Riese and this is my heart.
It reminded me of the old days when I couldn't sleep and I'd stay up all night watching Undressed marathons on MTV and writing letters. I could sleep in then, though, because I was 15 and lived at home with my Mom and worked at Dana's Deli at 3pm for $4.75/hour. I wish that show was still on.