Just So You Know, This Letter Would Have Been Tear-stained If It Wasn’t Written Digitally (And Other Fun Facts About How Sad My Life Is)
By Brian Polk
Art by Ray Young Chu
Published Issue 129, September 2024
Have You Ever Apologized For Some Terrible Thing You Did More Than A Decade Ago, And The Person You Apologized To Didn’t Even Remember It?
Like most other humans navigating the hellscape we call life, I find myself staying up nights and dwelling on incidents that happened many years ago. Then I feel awful for how I behaved and subsequently engage in hours of self-recrimination. A few times, I even reached out to the person I wronged and apologized — and every time they either had absolutely no clue what I was talking about, or it just wasn’t that big of a deal to them. So imagine my reaction when I realized I had been feeling shitty about an event that only survived in my own head! I think that’s indicative of the human experience — our personal pasts live larger in our own memories than they do in the memories of others. It reminded me of that Samuel Johnson quote: “If any man would consider how little he dwells upon the condition of others, he would learn how little the attention of others is attracted by himself.” Sing it, brother!
Whenever God Sees A Pug, Do You Think He Wonders Why Humans Would Go And Do That To A Wolf?
Poor pugs. Through no fault of their own, life sure isn’t easy for them. From obstructed breathing due to brachycephaly, to shortened life expectancy, their existence here on earth is mostly burdened with one struggle after the next. A far cry from their ancient wolf ancestors, who got along in nature just fine, the pug needs constant human care to even have a chance. Hence, I could see a vengeful God getting pretty upset with our unique pug creations. “I created the majestic wolf, and THIS is what you did to it?” he’d say. “The poor thing can’t even give birth properly.” You know, I often criticize the Old Testament God for killing the entire population of earth in the Great Flood, but there are times when I get it.
Growing Up, They Told Me Crime Doesn’t Pay, But Neither Does Working, So What The Fuck?
As far as I can remember, I always wanted to be a gangster. Well, that’s not exactly true. While I did enjoy watching Goodfellas and various other gangster-related movies, I didn’t have the opportunity to join any gangs, since there weren’t any gangsters where I grew up. Had there been, I definitely would have strongly considered such a lifestyle.
I can imagine it now: during my 20s and 30s, I would’ve spent my time committing racketeering, extortion, and tax fraud by day, and attending the most exclusive booze- and drug-fueled parties by night. Since I came by my money so easily by ripping off the rich, I would’ve tipped everyone generously — especially the working slubs who rely off such gratuities to barely eke out a living. I would’ve almost overdosed a few times by getting high on my own supply, as they say, but they’d serve as wake-up calls to slow down a little.
Then in my early 40s, some rat would’ve pointed to me in a courtroom for some transgression, and all of a sudden I’d have been serving seven to 10 years at a penitentiary upstate somewhere. While some days I’d have had regrets, I would’ve never forgotten the good times — not even sadistic security guards or other terrible inmates could’ve taken that away from me. Soon, I would’ve served my time, got out on parole, and tried to put the criminal lifestyle behind me.
Of course, I would’ve slowly but surely realized that working for a living afforded even less dignity than I’d had in the clink. And I would’ve found myself slipping back into my old ways — reestablishing connections to the underworld and committing all the crimes that landed me in jail in the first place. After spending several more years doing a lot of crime and partying my ass off when I wasn’t off stealing shit, I would’ve died violently some time in my late 50s or early 60s — killed either by the gun of a jealous lover or some kind of law enforcement type.
And that would’ve been much better than the retirement plan I have now. Also, at least a life of crime would have afforded me some good times where the cash and drugs flowed and I felt like I was on top of the world. There are no such good times now. I spend all my waking hours working for money that I already owe to creditors. I never get ahead. If I buy concert tickets one month, I eat ramen all through the next. Every pathway through this life is a deadend. I drew the short straw — like so many of us did.
We all played by the rules and we still didn’t even come close to winning. When they told me as a boy, “Crime doesn’t pay,” they never said, “Neither does working.” Nor did they say, “Crime occasionally pays, but in the long run, you’ll end up dying some time in your late 50s or early 60s. But you know, at least you’ll have a lot of fun and be able to afford some of the nicer things in life. And you’ll get to taste the sweet nectar that is dignity — which is something you’ll never get working 9-5. So weigh the pros and cons of embarking upon a criminal career, and make your decision accordingly.” I just wish they’d been a little more honest is all.
“… I Said Aloud To Myself In A Room Full Of People.”
Sometimes during bouts of drunkenness when I think I’m a genius, I write down my ideas. Then I’ll look at them again when I’m sober, and realize that drunk me must be some kind of fucking idiot. The title of this entry is proof of this. How did I ever laugh at that?
I Wonder If Anyone Has Ever Broken Both Of Their Fingers In A Mini-Skateboarding Accident
I’ve definitely seen people break both their legs in actual skateboarding accidents. And I imagine mini-skateboarders wipeout all the time. But even if they didn’t break their fingers, I bet someone, somewhere had to go to the emergency room after wrecking their mini-board. And I imagine everyone in the emergency room that day had themselves a nice laugh.
Brian Polk is a Denver-based writer, publisher of The Yellow Rake, and drummer for Joy Subtraction and Simulators. He’s the author of Placement of Character and Turning Failure into Ideology. He likes writing, muck raking, yellow journalism, zines not blogs, cheap booze and punk rock.
Ray Young Chu’s background starts with his grandfather being taken away by North Korean soldiers for being a preacher when his dad was six. They never saw him since. This back history has contributed to Ray’s continuous search for meaning and purpose behind his subject matter and art.
Check out Brian’s August issue install, After Abandoning Attempts At Living A Normal Life, I Consider Embracing My Eccentricity, with art by Ray Young Chu’s last piece, Cereal Killa With Cataracts, or head to our Explore section to see more of their work.