December 1st, 2025 - The Golden Boy

Dear TNY,

“The Golden Boy.”  Nope.

I read through one fifth of the piece and it was all backstory.  Who fucking gives a fuck?  Give me something to chew on.  Something meaty.  Something that makes me give a damn.  I could not give a shit about this person’s past.  At all.  Tell me, where’s he at and what’s he doing?  Let me try to figure out why.  Otherwise, how can I grow the feelings inside of me that I need to empathize?

Ugh.  Whatever.  I don’t even get that mad at you anymore.  You are who you are.  I can’t change you.  Because the world doesn’t want you to change.  Garbage people read your garbage stories and that’s why you print them.  Not because you care about art.  You just care about selling magazines.  And plebes like your fiction.  I tested this shit, thinking maybe it was me.  Found some good passages from classic 20th century literature.  And yep.  Catcher in the Rye is still magnificent.  So are a lot of the stories by Raymond Carver.  And Flannery O’Connor.  Bukowski still crushes.  And Denis Johnson is lord of the land.  Your shit sucks because sucky people read short fiction these days and they want fiction that matches their suckass lives. 

As I have stated, I am the problem. 

I left Seattle and the cot in the corner.  I felt sad leaving.  It was dark there.  And it wasn’t even mine.  But it supported me better than some relationships I’ve had.  Shit is now back in storage.  Heading to Walla Walla tomorrow.  It’s…I’m lost.  Or, really, I actually know what I’m supposed to do.  I’ve figured it out.  I just don’t have a lot of motivation to do it.  In the coming month and change, I have to do the Year in Review as well as fly all over the fucking map.  I’m choosing to.  I am choosing people over death again.  As I do want to be here, I just need to figure out how to stay.  And trying is a big step.  Maybe the biggest. 

I don’t know what else to say.  You’re the same.  I’m the same.  The world is the same.  It all seems to be headed downhill at a steady rate and there are a lot of people that are so alone, having ideas about relationships pumped into their heads which did not grow into fruit, myself included.  Feels like everyone needs a hug these days.  Someone to hold their hand.  A chest to sleep on or a head to be laid on one’s chest during sleep.  But it doesn’t seem to be happening as much.  We all got selfish.  Life got too easy.  Options became too many. Now we think struggling isn’t the way to build character or become your best self. Now we can’t stand being uncomfortable. Now we are useless.

Sigh.

I’m so fucking fucked.

Nick

P.S. Someone asked about her today. Wanted to see a picture of her. And now I’m crying. I just love her so much, guys. Neruda style. By the way I figure the numbers, I love her more than anyone on earth loves her. I’ve met most of her family. And her friends. And I know myself. Goddamn. She is, by miles, the most beautiful person I have ever seen. Inside and out. What a world. What a fucking heartbreaking world.