Up in 101 Delancey we don’t do much else but scheme. Scheme ways to lose ourselves in our heads, scheme ways to set up our lives to do nothing else but continue scheming how to lose ourselves.
A few months ago we started throwing parties on our outside area. We pimped it out. We spent hours cleaning it, we bought furniture, and hung some nice LED lights for the ladies.
Fuck you, It’s Summer, we say. At around 11 the party starts to really bump. Trap is all that’s played, the sort of hip-hop that makes you want to fight somebody at the same time that it makes you want to get so fucked up that there’s nothing in the world that could ever affect you. I invite anyone that I know, really, which is the only thing I can do considering I have not done a good job making friends outside of my real homies.
But I’m doin’ better now, and we get a crazy crew that rolls through every few weekends. I met Diana at one of these parties, the girl that wouldn’t stop asking me questions and touching my hair, or making fun of my shirt. I don’t think I’ve ever been meaner to a girl that I met or was attracted to. But the girl deserved it, talking like she knew who I was and what I’d been through. My homies hate her, but I don’t really get all that into it. She’s just a girl, all I know is that she’s asking our mutual friends what I think of her. To be frank, I don’t.
It’s all about filling that pit at the moment, that endless desire to find satisfaction. Or maybe it isn’t even satisfaction, but just some content-ness. I find I can’t even relax at the end of the day unless I’ve spent all day, like from seven in the morning to ten at night, doing something to improve myself. Now it’s become a battle of motivation versus the sloth. The sloth is slowly losing, but holds on tight as it can, because it knows (oh, does it know) that I need it to find motivation.
You need the devil to see the angel.
But I see way too much of the devil nowadays.
It’s fine though because every other weekend we turn up in ways I could have never imagined. The Devil and Angel both love these parties. The sloth loves the fact that I don’t even have to leave my place to do something, and my motivation and desire to do anything is pleased because I am, in fact, socializing.
She should see the consumption that my boys and I pull off at these parties. We never partied together, but that’s a moot point. Sorry for detracting, it’s tough to not slip back into it.
I’m sure some of the people I’ve invited have never seen that side of me, watching me take shit to the head for eight, or more, hours straight. At the end of the night, you’ll find me, like clockwork, sitting outside, leaning against the wall, head down, cigarette in hand, tugging at my hair (that’s a sort of habit, now), head bobbing to the music, mouth muttering the words to the song.
It looks like I’m depressed, or slowly going insane, but man, that’s when sleep is easy and my mind is at ease. That’s just who I am.
I told you I see way too much of the devil nowadays.
