In 1995 I had an experience that I attempt to convey in the web comic on this homepage, Richy Vegas: a psycho memoir. After I encountered the young woman in that convenience store at the end of the story, I remained ill for a full month and a half afterwards.
I remember the medication change I finally got in the middle of April, 1995. The old medication would get me to sleep okay, but I would go to bed hearing voices and having delusions, and the voices would return soon after I initially woke up. The morning after I took the new medicine. I remember the first rational thought in my head, clear as a bell: "I'm not going to have any answers to all that I experienced these past several months." or something along those lines.
I still haven't really had any answers to what all was going on in my head at that time. Nothing in the real world really changed with me: friends still said shitty things to me about how crazy I was, women shunned me more than ever, because I was for sure crazy, no doubt about it, I still had to take any crappy job I could get- I took a dishwashing job in June of 1995. All of the grandiose shit that roiled through my head in my sick time just sank like a stone. For all I know that was, and still is, the only place where any of this really cool stuff ever existed.
The other day, I formed this consoling thought: even though I can still get quite preoccupied with thoughts that others call delusional, I've gotten pretty good at smelling a rat, as far as my deal with women is concerned. If I ever did become world famous back then because of my wondrous deeds, I would have wrecked my ship on the nearest super model. I mean, that was pretty much a given.
I did two issues of Richy Vegas Comics that chronicled my experience, in the 80's, with one Veronica Ortega. The experiences I have nowadays with her figurative descendants don't play out in anything like the traumatic drama of my experiences with Veronica or certain women before and after her. The sheer number of major asshole women who seem to form a line outside my door that snakes around the block seems to have increased exponentially from those days. I just process these total asshole women in a much more sustainable, efficient manner. I'm like a limber little flat rock that skips along the surface of a lake, instead of a big stone that immediately sinks after an unceremonious toss into the water. I'm okay with skipping along this way until I reach the age where it's going to be about actual grifter women coming after my financial assets somehow, and I hope that I have dealt with demon loneliness well enough to tell them to go fuck themselves like I do with all THE ONES now.
So, the major changes since the days of 1995, let's list them: 1) I quit smoking cigarettes 2) I quit drinking and drugs 3) I've quit pursuing unavailable women. I've brought a lot of shit to the change table, and have got not a lot to show for it as far as the world changing.
I will ask for only one change: I would like certain friends of mine to not ask me to loan them monies until payday. That's it. I'm marking "X"s on my calendar to see how long it will be until these people hit me up again. It is not scientific of me to guarantee that these friends will hit me up for money, but seeing as how nothing ever changes for me in the real fucking world of this nature, I would say that it is highly probable that they will hit me up soon enough.
I'm going to give them a month, starting last Monday, the 18th of June, to strike again with their hard luck shit stories about needing gas money and all that kind of shit. If I lose the bet, and they don't hit me up for monies by July the 18th, what do I win? Here's what I will do: I will buy a vinyl record to play on my turntable that they sold me. The turntable actually works! I sold about 2/3rd's of my vinyl collection in the '90's, during and after my sick period in the first half of 1995. My family was putting the squeeze on me financially to get a job, so I had to come up with other ways to pay for cigarettes and all of that. I sold a lot of comic books and prose books, and, as I discovered last month, a lot of my old, cherished records.
So, that's the deal. I will buy a vinyl record once a month for every month they don't hit me up for cash. I was really disinclined to start collecting vinyl again, because I'm used to the CD format now, and that vinyl shit costs money. I'm not going to try to buy back the records I sold, I will just comb used bins for anything I might like, but that's the rule: if I get this nickel and dime shit from these people between the 18th's of any two given months, no record for me. And no, telling these friends to fuck off won't cut it. I don't want to have to make such a change myself. I want this little bit of my world to change on its own.
I remember the medication change I finally got in the middle of April, 1995. The old medication would get me to sleep okay, but I would go to bed hearing voices and having delusions, and the voices would return soon after I initially woke up. The morning after I took the new medicine. I remember the first rational thought in my head, clear as a bell: "I'm not going to have any answers to all that I experienced these past several months." or something along those lines.
I still haven't really had any answers to what all was going on in my head at that time. Nothing in the real world really changed with me: friends still said shitty things to me about how crazy I was, women shunned me more than ever, because I was for sure crazy, no doubt about it, I still had to take any crappy job I could get- I took a dishwashing job in June of 1995. All of the grandiose shit that roiled through my head in my sick time just sank like a stone. For all I know that was, and still is, the only place where any of this really cool stuff ever existed.
The other day, I formed this consoling thought: even though I can still get quite preoccupied with thoughts that others call delusional, I've gotten pretty good at smelling a rat, as far as my deal with women is concerned. If I ever did become world famous back then because of my wondrous deeds, I would have wrecked my ship on the nearest super model. I mean, that was pretty much a given.
I did two issues of Richy Vegas Comics that chronicled my experience, in the 80's, with one Veronica Ortega. The experiences I have nowadays with her figurative descendants don't play out in anything like the traumatic drama of my experiences with Veronica or certain women before and after her. The sheer number of major asshole women who seem to form a line outside my door that snakes around the block seems to have increased exponentially from those days. I just process these total asshole women in a much more sustainable, efficient manner. I'm like a limber little flat rock that skips along the surface of a lake, instead of a big stone that immediately sinks after an unceremonious toss into the water. I'm okay with skipping along this way until I reach the age where it's going to be about actual grifter women coming after my financial assets somehow, and I hope that I have dealt with demon loneliness well enough to tell them to go fuck themselves like I do with all THE ONES now.
So, the major changes since the days of 1995, let's list them: 1) I quit smoking cigarettes 2) I quit drinking and drugs 3) I've quit pursuing unavailable women. I've brought a lot of shit to the change table, and have got not a lot to show for it as far as the world changing.
I will ask for only one change: I would like certain friends of mine to not ask me to loan them monies until payday. That's it. I'm marking "X"s on my calendar to see how long it will be until these people hit me up again. It is not scientific of me to guarantee that these friends will hit me up for money, but seeing as how nothing ever changes for me in the real fucking world of this nature, I would say that it is highly probable that they will hit me up soon enough.
I'm going to give them a month, starting last Monday, the 18th of June, to strike again with their hard luck shit stories about needing gas money and all that kind of shit. If I lose the bet, and they don't hit me up for monies by July the 18th, what do I win? Here's what I will do: I will buy a vinyl record to play on my turntable that they sold me. The turntable actually works! I sold about 2/3rd's of my vinyl collection in the '90's, during and after my sick period in the first half of 1995. My family was putting the squeeze on me financially to get a job, so I had to come up with other ways to pay for cigarettes and all of that. I sold a lot of comic books and prose books, and, as I discovered last month, a lot of my old, cherished records.
So, that's the deal. I will buy a vinyl record once a month for every month they don't hit me up for cash. I was really disinclined to start collecting vinyl again, because I'm used to the CD format now, and that vinyl shit costs money. I'm not going to try to buy back the records I sold, I will just comb used bins for anything I might like, but that's the rule: if I get this nickel and dime shit from these people between the 18th's of any two given months, no record for me. And no, telling these friends to fuck off won't cut it. I don't want to have to make such a change myself. I want this little bit of my world to change on its own.
RSS Feed
