cellini's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I want to go home. The only times I write in here are basically when I am drunk and alone. Keep that in mind. For the last month or so I've been dating this chick who just sort of showed up through OKC. Super hot, red head, former yoga instructor, 33. Married. Polyamorous. This is not what I am looking for. I want to get married and have a real life and more kids. I'm not looking for randoms and have avoided random hookups. But after almost a year of being single and not hooking up with anyone, I can't fucking take it anymore. So when the married redhead wanted to meet me, I said yes. We've been going out a few times a week for the last month. She has a good time. we've crashed a lot of parties, gone to concerts and club night. She gets to hang out with musicians and artists and writers, because that's pretty much where my life is. There is a social currency to running around with me. Tonight, Halloween, I just got back from a 5 or 6 day road trip I was in TN covering several alt-right rallies for the D@ily B3ast. We thought they would turn into riots, which was why I was sent in from so far away for a relatively large amount of money compared to what they would normally pay. I'm the guy people know they can send in to cover a riot and when there's gunfire or tear gas I'm not gonna run. I'm gonna stay there and get the story. Reality -- I stay there and get the fucking story because I don't care whether I live or die. Not because I'm especially brave. That, and I'm more afraid of failing to do my duty than I am of being shot or killed. So I went to TN and did that shit for a few days and ran myself ragged. Then I drove all fucking day back here, slept, woke up, and drove all fucking day to PA to interview some militia guys for this movie that I am co-producing. Then I drove back. Yesterday was a 16 hour day, getting back at around 3 am. So today I went out with this hot, married redhead. And she brought her fucking husband. Nice enough guy. Smart dude, college professor. I guess it was entertaining going out to a bar and having people do triple-takes when we were both kind of making out with her. So that was some interesting shit. I know better than to fall in love with her. I'm not stupid. But I don't know what the point of all this is. I'm not going to marry her -- she's already married. So what's the point? Meanwhile, it's fun putting my cock in her various orifices. The movie is screening in 12 days. Some of my production partners are apparently getting pissy about me being out in front on the PR. Well, maybe they should have showed up in person on August the 12th. Maybe they should have come to the bond hearings and trials and the other protests since the 12th. Maybe they should have gone to the vigils and press conferences and actions during the months before the 12th. I have had so many false alarms where I jumped in the car at 11 pm to see what was happening, so many real things where I sat in the rain for an hour until shit went down. So many times I got tear gas or pepper spray in the face. And the time my brake lines were cut while I tried to drive home. These fucking dipshits. I get that they work hard on this movie. Their editing and videography is invaluable. It's not the same thing as having people trying to fucking kill you. It's not the same thing as having a face full of tear gas and standing there, coughing and tearing, and not moving and getting the fucking story. What they have done is not the same thing as what I have done. People give us interviews because of what I went through. Because I was there with them and because I suffered with them. And because I am the one person asking these questions who knows what it was like to stand there and suffer. I'm on the line where I'm ready to walk away and tell them to do those interviews themselves. You sit in front of a mic and talk about your bravery when you left Ch@rlottseville that day. Fuck you. Fuck your safety. Nobody is trying to kill you. You don't know what it's like looking under your car before you start the engine. Fuck you. I'm just done. I thought I was ready to do the whole college tour thing, taking the film around the country and speaking. But not like this. You guys can fucking do it yourselves. Go in front of an audience and talk about how you ran away that day. Tell them how you hid. I'm just fucking done. And I don't want to spend years of my life speaking about this thing when other people involved with it are going to be assholes about it. I feel like I'm done. This movie will screen in 12 days and that can be the end. Fuck, I just want it all to stop. I am ready to end. Two books, two movies, a few hundred articles. Isn't that good enough? CAN I PLEASE JUST STOP EXISTING? WHY DO I STILL HAVE TO BE HERE? Heroin seems to be a mixed bag. There are a lot of ODs on heroin, but it isn't predictable. I've never done heroin. I would like to buy one dose and shoot up and then OD and be gone. And be gone. Just to end. That's what I want. I don't want to fuck some random chick. I want to live again, or not live at all. I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home. 12:46 a.m. - 2017-11-01 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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