J. Beaman - The Magazine

Yesterday was the 23rd anniversary of my mom’s death. On June 6th, 1982 my dad, after my mom told him she was leaving him and taking us (my sister and I) with her, broke into our neighbors house and stole their gun (the one that he had sold to them months earlier) and shot my mom three times in the face. He actually shot six times (all the bullets the gun would hold) but only hit her three times.

I think she lived for a few days or maybe a few weeks but June 6th is the day I choose to remember. June 6th is the day she left me. It makes me sad.

I’m going to talk about my mom for a minute.

(I was going to talk about how listening to LCD Soundsystem was like getting your asshole licked but I changed my mind. “Whew!” some of you are saying, or maybe “Damn, that sounds way more fun.” Either way, I understand.)

On May 22nd, 1982 my mom (Glenda Grace Beaman) graduated from Sacramento State University with a nursing degree. I think it was a day of freedom for her. I think she knew for a long time that she would be leaving my dad when she got that damned nursing degree.

Ok, I’m tired of talking about my mom (I didn’t get very far into it, did I?). It fucking hurts. It hurts because I don’t have more than ten memories of her. Not only was my mom robbed from me, but most of my memories of her. Half the memories I have of my mom involve her taking beatings from my dad to protect us. Sometimes it makes me angry but mostly it makes me sad.

I sometimes wonder why I’m not a sociopath. Or a rapist. Or a wife beater. It’s too bad that I don’t believe in god–I could give him the credit. How does that even work? “Hey, god, it’s cool that my mom’s dead and that my dad killed her because you made sure I didn’t turn into a sociopath.” Christians are so dumb.

I’m just lucky, I guess. We live in a universe of pitiless indifference and I seem to have dodged a few bullets.

Yay me.

For now, just know this: If you were in my head you would be worried. About me, about yourself and about the state of the world. I’m spending too much time with the Dark Friends, in the Dark Place. It’s cold and wet there but somehow comforting. Familiar ground. I know the Dark Friends and we understand one another. The Dark Friends are consistant and reliable. The Dark Place is like wet concrete, cracked and moldy.

I wrote an essay, a high school journal entry about how depressed and lonely I am. I didn’t put it up here because I was trying to avoid my friends calling me to offer support and advice and sympathy. Or maybe I’m afraid they wouldn’t. Either way.

I’m unhappy and lonesome I’m not going to go into it but when I feel like this I feel like I’m going to feel like this forever.

I was updating the website the other day and looked at our stats online. There is a section where you can see what people searched for in order to find our site.

The obvious ones where there.

Two Note Solo
Drunk Film Fest
Henri Mazza
Hip Lit

Some weird ones.

Amy Boone Beaman
pictures on people that have smoked and what happened to their teeth
unicycle hockey movie
pictures of someone being oblivious
burberry galoshes

Some creepy ones.

am i fat for fourteen
i fuck my grandmother
raped by a monkey
teen fuck 5-8 age girl

A favorite.

how to make ex-girlfriends more attracted to you

And the greatest one.

blogs of lonely people

Someone searched for ‘blogs of lonely people’ and found us. That made me less lonely, I guess. If only a little bit and not for long. I feel so shitty right now I’ll take what I can get.

I also got a fan letter.

That’s pretty great, too. Thanks. I’ll write more often.