It wasn’t a chemical imbalance, and it wasn’t drugs and alcohol. I think it was much more that I had lived an incredibly American life. This idea that if I could just achieve X and Y and Z, that everything would be okay. There’s a thing in the book about how when somebody leaps from a burning skyscraper, it’s not that they’re not afraid of falling anymore. It’s that the alternative is so awful. And so then you’re invited to consider what could be so awful…that leaping to your death would seem like an escape from it. I don’t know if you have any experience with this kind of thing. But it’s worse than any kind of physical injury. It may be in the old days what was known as a spiritual crisis…feeling as though every axiom in your life turned out to be false, and there was actually nothing. And that you were nothing. And that it’s all a delusion, and you’re so much better than everybody ’cause you can see how this is just a delusion, and you’re so much worse because you can’t fucking function. It’s really horrible. I don’t think that we ever change. I’m sure that I still have those same parts of me. Guess I’m trying really hard to find a way not to let them drive.
~ David Foster Wallace
Author Archives: Jayson Gallaway
Starting a cult would probably be pretty profitable and no small amount of fun. The thought does cross. Get a few friends together and head out to the desert and start a “family.” Maybe after this book comes out. Hell, it’ll probably be inevitable. Heh.
N.P.: “Helter Skelter” – Rob Zombie, Marilyn Manson
The future really was so much better in the past.
Make another serial killer laugh today. It was actually probably more of a chuckle. Still counts.
There will be no next time. This was it.
N.P.: “Fear Inoculum” – TOOL
Just busy as hell, dear reader, with all sorts of non-writing, lifey things. Still managed to get a few pages down. Now I must collapse. I hope you are well.
N.P.: “Crank It – Living with Ghosts” – John 5
It’s August. And down in Mexico, that means it’s bullfighting season. It might be time to head back down to Tijuana to dance with the girls in the red dresses.
Or maybe not. Maybe I should just sit tight, lay low, hunker down here in Room 5, and not come out until I finish one or more of these goddamn books.
N.P.: “Bombshell from Hell” – Scum of the Earth
The good news is that I didn’t start a bunch of new projects today. The bad news is I didn’t finish any old ones, either. Still, progress is being made. I can probably do another page before collapse.
It occurred to me last night/this morning that the main book is maybe closer than I thought to being submittable/salable. Unsure. We’ll see.
N.P.: “Come On – Thomas Tank Remix” – The Notorious B.I.G.
“Even a stopped clock gives the right time twice a day. And for once I’m inclined to believe that Withnail is right: we are indeed drifting into the arena of the unwell..making an enemy of our own future.” ~ I
Just a weird weekend. Sort of annoying because there was a lot of waiting and seeing going on, so the whole thing felt like being on call, I’d like to think that things will calm down tomorrow, but they won’t. I could probably benefit from some therapeutic couch time. Or I could just keep working on these books. That’s been pretty cathartic of late.
N.P.: “Doc Holliday” – Volbeat
Me: Cheers.
He: Cheers.
Me: Why did the chicken cross the road?
He: Why?
Me: To get to the idiot’s house. Knock knock.
He: Who’s there?
Me: The chicken.
He: You fucker.
Me: Cheers.
He: Asshole.
N.P.: “Hard Time Killing Floor Blues” – Chris Thomas King
Writing and whiskey: the breakfast of champions. Also the lunch and dinner and late supper of champions.
N.P.: “Hey Man, Nice Shot” – Filter
It’s getting a bit dark in here.
My spontaneous responses to a series of questions Oprah asks of authors she is considering for her book club:
Q: Finish these sentences: The world needs _______.
A: A species-thinning plague. And me.
Q: I believe in _______.
A: Nothing.
Q: Love is _______.
A: Always conditional.
Q: I am grateful for _______.
A: My enemies. They give me something to look forward to.
Q: What is the soul?
A: The human psyche’s delusion created out of the ego’s complete inability to cope with the brutal truth of mortality, that when you die, you cease to exist. Completely. On every plane.
N.P.: “Cry Little Sister” – Carfax Abbey