March 28, 2002 | 11:46 AM

7X)### Thurston St.

After the disaster that is the �Be Creative� Party, I end the whole damn sex and death Angus fuck trip.

The end.

Finit.

Asta la vista, my ex-partner in unrequited romance, lust, and self-torture. With a lack of emotionalism previously unknown to me, I cut this umbilical cord of faithless longing.

And that ladies and gentlemen, is that.

(For now anyway...)

Sure �nuff, Angus and Emma Pelegrino fall head over sloppy heels in love with each other. They become an item.

Do I hate her?

Um...no.

OK, yes.

Yes I do. I despise her with the catty indignance of an Edith Wharton villainess

I fucking hate her very breath.

First of all, she has this irritating habit in party situations of picking up other peoples� guitars and performing off key renditions of Red House Painters songs. She cannot sing. She cannot play. She fucks with everyone�s tunings because she has a tin ear and no sense of harmonics. Listening to one so talentless butcher �Grace Cathedral Park� over and over for twenty minutes is vomit inducing.

Especially since the entire time Emma performs, Angus stares at her like an adoring lap dog.

I want to throttle her.

She�s also the kind of girl that interrupts you whenever you talk, and changes the topic to boot. You might be saying,

Yesterday I was listening to Siouxsi and the Banshees and it made me realize that...

And then she cuts you off.

Oh yeah, speaking of Siouxi and the Banshees, I used to know this girl Kim who looked exactly like her. Siouxsi, I mean. She got pregnant and had to drop out of school. Kim, not Siouxsi. There were a lot of kids that got pregnant at my high school and dropped out blah blah blah...

This makes any real exchange virtually impossible.

However.

Really truly and honestly, she is a nice, intelligent girl. And I know, or at least I think that she truly cares for Angus.

I mull over and over what Angus said to me a few short weeks before.

I need to be with someone who just wants to be with me. Who can say, �you�re the one for me�, and wants to sleep next to me every night. And make love to me every day. Who wants to buy groceries with me. And let me make dinner. I need to be loved that way. The way that I love...

Only a horrible terrible person would begrudge her ex-lover and dear friend romantic happiness.

This girl, this Emma Pelegrino with her snazzy horn-rimmed glasses and thrift store tee shirts, her craptacular guitar stylings and her 1950�s movie star voluptuousness, is actually bringing out the best in my dear boy.

Angus is relaxed. He talks about possibly going back to school and finishing his degree. He and Emma make plans to hike the Appalachian trail together. On weekends they drive up to New Hampshire and go mountain climbing. They go out for dinner and they actually even sleep together on a regular basis.

They have a real relationship.

Assholes.

I on the other hand am a miserable failure.

I sink deeper and deeper into depression.

I can�t read a full page without my mind wandering. Falling sleep�hah! More like climbing tooth and nail into sleep. The pursuance of rest has never been more exhausting. I sit up nights smoking cigarette after cigarette, biting my nails to the quick. Only alcohol in its various forms sends me effortlessly into unconsciousness.

I can�t write. Even singing, my one great passion, is a chore. It is a struggle just to comb my hair in the morning. I cease trying to have any semblance of a life.

I don�t even realize that I�m depressed.

I had been depressed before as a teenager, even tried to kill myself when I was 16 (pills and booze�you know the drill). But that experience was one of heightened despair. I was conscious of excruciating psychic pain at all times, and the pain made me want to change things, to end the hell�in that sense, attempting to kill myself was almost a positive step. At least it was a feeble stab at ascending to some other kind of reality.

In this instance though, it is as if everything in the world has turned gray. Boundaries merge. The horizon frays and drops off the page. There is no color. No love. No remorse. No longing. I have raised the white flag. Surrendered to the sexless corporate death trap that is my life.

And I stop having dreams. There is no dreaming. Only the hours spent at the Stupid Company followed by hours of darkness.

This is my safe hamster wheel existence. I wrap my brain around mundane crises and delusions of control.

My mind is occupied by insipid Stupid Company details and by scary apartment details.

Remember Ronnie Jackson?

Because things at ### Thurston Street are a wee bit tense right now.

(Understatement of the year)

And here�s why...

Stay Tuned for Part the Forty-First...

For those of you who are curious, right now in the SAGA it is late winter/early Spring of 2000. Somebody asked me, so I thought I'd share the info with everyone.

An' I don't give a damn �bout my reputation!

The world's in trouble!

There's no communication!

An' everyone can say!

What they want to say!

It never gets better anyway!

So why should I care!

'Bout a bad reputation anyway!

Oh no, not me!

Oh no, not me!

How about you?

Read THE SAGA from THE VERY BEGINNING!

time capsule from heaven - Sunday, Aug. 21, 2011
31 - Saturday, Mar. 15, 2008
Dead/Alive - Monday, Mar. 10, 2008
Do not trustTIAA-CREF-- they are fucking their customers - Friday, Jul. 28, 2006
Shilling - Tuesday, Jul. 11, 2006

Before After