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Vice Blog

Unrequited Love - Dear Vice

O no bitch, please.

I haven't been able to write lately. I suppose it is because I think this whole endeavor may be pointless. Every time I think of the poem I mailed to him in a drunken haze (the eternal excuse), I cringe and blurt some fragment out, schizophrenically:

"Trick!"

"Fuck!"

"Composite sketch!"

Anyway, he said he thought it was good and would stop by my work on Friday. It's Wednesday. Fucking Wednesday! No call. No consideration, while I am ever empathetic and make excuses that are reasonable but do not explain his COMPLETE lack of caring.

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"Two of his friends died in a car accident last week."

"His tour was canceled."

"He's 23."

Now, there are contributing factors but the fact remains that he is his own psychoanalyst which makes him abhorrently self-involved. (The Queen of Adverbs rises again.) The last time he didn't call, he said he had been in a substance-induced daze for five or six days. Nevertheless, young alcoholics have an endearing desperation that I cannot resist coddling. I coddle my own drinking. It is 9:10 am and I have had two, no, three sturdy screwdrivers. No sympathy expected, just factual reporting.

Let's examine all the options. Perhaps if I write it out I won't have to go over them repeatedly throughout the day. Start with the most sensible and work you way down.

  • He is terrified by my brazen and reckless affection. (Predictable.)

  • He has to much shit to real with right now. (Snore.)

  • He believes within happiness he will lose his creativity. (Banal.)

  • He is depressed and feels he doesn't deserve me. (Blah.)

  • He has cum down with a case of impotence that makes the mind reel. (Doubtful.)

  • H doesn't like me that much. (Plausible.)

Reasons. Excuses. The first boy who ever gave me an orgasm (we never even had sex) has dropped me in the trash like a soggy pancake and I don't know why.

I suppose this is doing me well in regards to my creative output, but I hate to play into that for the fear of dependency on suffering. I refuse to be a sad, ironically humorous person that people admire and pity in the same instant. Frankly, I have always esteemed those types but now I feel the intellectual effort required for such a cause is silly and commonplace. Yes, yes! I want to be extraordinarily wise and peaceful. I desire to not feel murderous malice towards my fellow man. Half of me holds the earth in a sympathetic embrace and the other half…

Oh, yes. The boy. I was trying to figure out why he hasn't called me. Now I wonder if it is better like this, using each other for our ambitious causes. These cheap ploys of expression make us feel solid. I suppose it doesn't matter why, the reality is I will remain me and he will remain him; we prefer self-preservation to collaboration. It's so much easier to write about it than actually live it.

-Kleet