Another book where the writing bears a physical resemblance to the lives portrayed within it is Denis Johnson’s Jesus’ Son (1992).
I did not think much of this book when it came out, having bought it on the recommendation of a friend who claimed to have lived it. But because I was interested in this person, and how they came to be, I read on, annoyed by the writing, which felt like a bunch of broken sentences, or sentences that did not break in the right places.
It was only later that I would appreciate this book for those very reasons, finding in it a poetry that felt closer to my moment than the Kerouac she had likened it to.
As for my friend, we lost touch. She was a party friend, someone I would see at a certain kind of party. When I stopped going to those parties it was as if she had disappeared.
party friends - It reminds me of current party friends, and those who attend parties I now no longer attend...and how many are, as I write, at parties that I would never be invited to or know what to wear to or what cocktail to hold in my hand or what conversations would be going on there...would I be joining in, feeling fellowship with one of these said friends, or would I be hanging back, observing behaviour and manners carefully, sometimes making a comment to my party friend like, "I think they just had a fight. She wants to go. He wants to stay." In high school my party friends were really centred around drinking games, how much, how long...later it was the long into the night conversations fueled by various intoxicants infused with philosophy...kids birthday parties...I'm going to a divorce party soon...parties and party friends -
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