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Description
Aug. 18th

Goddamnit! I should have fuckin’ known she would leave. I told her I was the fuckin’ Jesus of Suburbia. Like I said before, I am like goddamn Jekyll and Hyde! I can’t separate St. Jimmy from Jesus of Suburbia anymore.

She told me she was leaving, but I didn’t really believe her. As we laid down to sleep, she said, “I can’t take this place. I’m leaving it behind.” I nodded, not really knowing what she was saying. Right before I fell asleep, she said, “I can’t take this town.” She kissed me as my lids fell. “I’m leaving you tonight.”

I didn’t think Whatsername would leave like this, though. All she left was a fuckin’ letter. I mean, she could have made me the idiot America, and she leaves forever and just leaves a letter? That doesn’t make any fuckin’ sense.

Dear J,

There are some things that you learn just from walking around this godforsaken city. Those cars are on the street even though the dummy failed the crash test. You can see all those people now collecting unemployment checks. The underbelly of this city isn’t an underbelly at all. It stacks up ten high.

The town bishop is an extortionist for crying out loud. He doesn’t even know that you exist because there was never a reason to extort you. He thought you were like a flunkie along for the ride.

Why did I leave? Because this city is boring. I mean, where have all the bastards gone? Where have all the riots gone? The riots that would see to it that the city’s motto gets pulverized.

Let’s face it. It’s not that I’m leaving. It’s that I’m ahead of the rest of them. I mean, where will all the martyrs go when the virus cures itself?

Where did I go? I want to answer that with a question. Where will we all go when it’s too late?

On all of our birth certificates, it reads “What’s in love is now in debt.” Parents were in love and as soon as we were born, they were in debt. You are St. Jimmy, the figment of your father’s rage and your mother’s love.

You were always standing still when it was do or die. When you realize what I have in store for this city, you better run for your fucking life.

I’m also leaving the City of the Damned. I suggest you do, too, before it’s too late. It’s not ever over before it’s too late. This City’s burning, Jimmy. Pretty soon, to the rest of the saints, it’s not over ‘till you’re underground. Get out now.

YOU ARE NOT THE JESUS OF SUBURBIA! There is nothing left to analyze. You are St. Jimmy. To the City of the Damned, you will always be St. Jimmy. To them, it is not over until you are underground. Remember that. So strike the fucking match to light this fuse!

--W

P.S. It’s not my burden.

I had no idea what that last line and post-script was for, but I didn’t really care. Not only did she leave this town, she left me, she left the City of the Damned. She left behind everything.

…What’s that sound? Oh, no… Shit, no. There’s a fuckin’ fire outside!

*

I should have known. She couldn’t leave behind everything and just leave a letter. She left a fuckin’ letter bomb in the center of the city. That’s what she meant by lighting the fuse. “It’s not my burden”? Fuck her. She set the fuckin’ city on fire and just left! This is HER fuckin’ burden!

First, she leaves me, which I can deal with. Then she tells me that I’m not the Jesus of Suburbia. Tons of people have told me that, but I still fuckin’ believe I am. Then she lights the whole fuckin’ city on fire, which I can deal with! But then she tells me that the City of the Damned isn’t safe?! This is the only fuckin’ place I’ve ever felt like I belonged!

If the City of the Damned isn’t safe, then I’m heading back to Jingletown.

And I am NEVER going back to Jingletown.

Description
Aug. 18th

Goddamnit! I should have fuckin’ known she would leave. I told her I was the fuckin’ Jesus of Suburbia. Like I said before, I am like goddamn Jekyll and Hyde! I can’t separate St. Jimmy from Jesus of Suburbia anymore.

She told me she was leaving, but I didn’t really believe her. As we laid down to sleep, she said, “I can’t take this place. I’m leaving it behind.” I nodded, not really knowing what she was saying. Right before I fell asleep, she said, “I can’t take this town.” She kissed me as my lids fell. “I’m leaving you tonight.”

I didn’t think Whatsername would leave like this, though. All she left was a fuckin’ letter. I mean, she could have made me the idiot America, and she leaves forever and just leaves a letter? That doesn’t make any fuckin’ sense.

Dear J,

There are some things that you learn just from walking around this godforsaken city. Those cars are on the street even though the dummy failed the crash test. You can see all those people now collecting unemployment checks. The underbelly of this city isn’t an underbelly at all. It stacks up ten high.

The town bishop is an extortionist for crying out loud. He doesn’t even know that you exist because there was never a reason to extort you. He thought you were like a flunkie along for the ride.

Why did I leave? Because this city is boring. I mean, where have all the bastards gone? Where have all the riots gone? The riots that would see to it that the city’s motto gets pulverized.

Let’s face it. It’s not that I’m leaving. It’s that I’m ahead of the rest of them. I mean, where will all the martyrs go when the virus cures itself?

Where did I go? I want to answer that with a question. Where will we all go when it’s too late?

On all of our birth certificates, it reads “What’s in love is now in debt.” Parents were in love and as soon as we were born, they were in debt. You are St. Jimmy, the figment of your father’s rage and your mother’s love.

You were always standing still when it was do or die. When you realize what I have in store for this city, you better run for your fucking life.

I’m also leaving the City of the Damned. I suggest you do, too, before it’s too late. It’s not ever over before it’s too late. This City’s burning, Jimmy. Pretty soon, to the rest of the saints, it’s not over ‘till you’re underground. Get out now.

YOU ARE NOT THE JESUS OF SUBURBIA! There is nothing left to analyze. You are St. Jimmy. To the City of the Damned, you will always be St. Jimmy. To them, it is not over until you are underground. Remember that. So strike the fucking match to light this fuse!

--W

P.S. It’s not my burden.

I had no idea what that last line and post-script was for, but I didn’t really care. Not only did she leave this town, she left me, she left the City of the Damned. She left behind everything.

…What’s that sound? Oh, no… Shit, no. There’s a fuckin’ fire outside!

*

I should have known. She couldn’t leave behind everything and just leave a letter. She left a fuckin’ letter bomb in the center of the city. That’s what she meant by lighting the fuse. “It’s not my burden”? Fuck her. She set the fuckin’ city on fire and just left! This is HER fuckin’ burden!

First, she leaves me, which I can deal with. Then she tells me that I’m not the Jesus of Suburbia. Tons of people have told me that, but I still fuckin’ believe I am. Then she lights the whole fuckin’ city on fire, which I can deal with! But then she tells me that the City of the Damned isn’t safe?! This is the only fuckin’ place I’ve ever felt like I belonged!

If the City of the Damned isn’t safe, then I’m heading back to Jingletown.

And I am NEVER going back to Jingletown.