don-gately

7

and the tide was way out.
an infinite jest fanmix almost as long as the book itself

tracklist

  1. “enjoy your worries, you may never have them again” // the books
  2. “dirty water” // the standells
  3. “ollie falls asleep” // berlinist
  4. “los adoléscentes” // dënver
  5. “talk show host” // radiohead
  6. “helplessness blues” // fleet foxes
  7. “born in the u.s.a. (live)” // bruce springsteen
  8. “all my friends” // lcd soundsystem
  9. “white rabbit” // jefferson airplane
  10. “the district sleeps alone” // the postal service
  11. “marathon runner” // yellow ostrich
  12. “me and the devil” // gil scott-heron
  13. “in-a-gadda-da-vida” // iron butterfly
  14. “st. peter’s cathedral” // death cab for cutie
  15. “young legends” // sleigh bells
  16. “the rat” // the walkmen
  17. “looked good (but you looked away)” // the helio sequence
  18. “is there a ghost” // band of horses 
  19. “el mañana” // gorillaz
  20. “journey to the plains” // *shels
  21. “ize of the world” // the strokes
  22. “the winner is” // danna/devotchka
  23. “(nothing but) flowers” // talking heads

listen on 8tracks

He could do the dextral pain the same way: Abiding. No one single instant of it was unendurable. Here was a second right here: he endured it. What was undealable-with was the thought of all the instants all lined up and stretching ahead, glittering. And the projected future fear… It’s too much to think about. To Abide there. But none of it’s as of now real… He could just hunker down in the space between each heartbeat and make each heartbeat a wall and live in there. Not let his head look over. What’s unendurable is what his own head could make of it all. What his head could report to him, looking over and ahead and reporting. But he could choose not to listen… He hadn’t quite gotten this before now, how it wasn’t just the matter of riding out cravings for a Substance: everything unendurable was in the head, was the head not Abiding in the Present but hopping the wall and doing a recon and then returning with unendurable news you then somehow believed.
—  David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest
If a halfway-attractive female so much as smiles at Don Gately as they pass on the crowded street, Don Gately, like pretty much all heterosexual drug addicts, has within a couple blocks mentally wooed, shacked up with, married and had kids by that female, all in the future, all in his head.
—  Would just like to point out that this is pretty much what it’s like to live in my head as well. Are you a reasonably attractive human male? Have you ever made eye contact with me in public and possibly even smiled a little bit? If yes, I have made wild extrapolations about the possible significance of this. 
Don, I’m perfect. I’m so beautiful I drive anybody with a nervous system out of their fucking mind. Once they’ve seen me they can’t think of anything else and don’t want to look at anything else and stop carrying out normal responsibilities and believe that if they can only have me right there with them at all times everything will be alright. Everything. Like I’m the solution to their deep slavering need to be jowl to cheek with perfection…I’m so beautiful that I’m deformed.
—  Joelle Van Dyne, speaking with Don Gately, live-in staffer at Ennet House, Infinite Jest
0450H., 11 NOVEMBER YEAR OF THE DEPEND ADULT UNDERGARMENT FRONT OFFICE, ENNET HOUSE D.A.R.H., ENFIELD, MA
  • J:The thing is, Mr. Staff, I've already just completely opened up about my shame and my inability to be open and straightforward about this. You're exposing something I've already held up to view. It's your shame about being ashamed of what you're afraid might be seen as lack of brightness that's getting to stay buried under this dead horse of my deformity that you're trying to whip.
  • D:And then meantime you still didn't say a straight-on Yes or No to Can I ask what's up behind there, are you cross-eyed or have like a beard, or do you have like really bad skin under there even though your skin everyplace that isn't hidden looks -
  • J:Looks what? My unhidden skin is what?
  • D:See, this is you keep trying to sidetrack instead of just saying No to Can I ask. Just say No. Try it. It's OK. Nothing bad'll happen. Just try it straight out.
  • J:Perfect. You were going to say every visible expanse of my skin is just drop-dead creamy perfect.
  • D:Jesus, why am I even here? Why don't you just interface with yourself if you think you know all my issues and shames and everything I'm going to say? Why not take the suggestion to say No? Why come in here? Did I come to you, to talk? Was I just sitting here trying to keep awake and do the Log and getting ready to go mop shit with a shoe-freak and did or didn't you waltz on in and sit down and come to me?
  • J:Don, I'm perfect. I'm so beautiful I drive anybody with a nervous system out of their fucking mind. Once they've seen me then can't think of anything else and don't want to look at anything else and stop carrying out normal responsibilities and believe that if they can only have me right there with them at all times everything will be all right. Everything. Like I'm the solution to their deep slavering need to be jowl to cheek with perfection.
  • D:Now with the sarcasm.
  • J:I am so beautiful I am deformed.
  • D:Now with the nonrespectful acting-out of treating me like I'm stupid for trying to get her to walk through her fear to give a straight-out No, which she isn't willing.
  • J:I am deformed with beauty.
  • D:You want to see my professional Staff face here's my Staff face. I nod and smile, I treat you like somebody I have to humor by nodding and smiling, and behind the face I'm going with my finger around and around my temple like What a fucking yutz, like Where's the net.
  • J:Believe what you want. I'm powerless over what you believe, I know.
  • D:See the professional Staffer writing in the Meds Log: "Six extra-strong kind aspirin for Staff after sarcasm and sideways refusal to walk through fears and sarcastic acting out by newcomer who thinks she knows every body else's issues...
  • J:What position did you play?
  • D:…that the Staffer wonders how come she's even here in treatment, then if she knows so much."
Gately usually no longer much cares whether he understands or not. He does the knee-and-ceiling thing twice a day, and cleans shit, and listens to dreams, and stays Active, and tells the truth to the Ennet House residents, and tries to help a couple of them if they approach him wanting help. And when Ferocious Francis G. and the White Flaggers presented him, on the September Sunday that marked his first year sober, with a faultlessly baked and heavily frosted one-candle cake, Don Gately had cried in front of nonrelatives for the first time in his life. He now denies that he actually did cry, saying something about candle fumes in his eye. But he did.
— 

David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest.

Oh god.

It’s even more of a thing in context. Oh god.

He could just hunker down in the space between each heartbeat and make each heartbeat a wall and live in there. Not let his head look over. What’s unendurable is what his own head could make of it all. What his head could report to him, looking over and ahead and reporting. But he could choose not to listen; he could treat his head like G. Day or R. Lenz: clueless noise. He hadn’t quite gotten this before now, how it wasn’t just the matter of riding out the cravings for a Substance: everything unendurable was in the head, was the head not Abiding in the Present but hopping the wall and doing a recon and then returning with unendurable news you then somehow believed.
—  David Foster Wallace - Infinite Jest
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     If a halfway-attractive female so much as smiles at Don Gately as they pass on the crowded street, Don Gately, like pretty much all heterosexual drug addicts, has within a couple blocks mentally wooed, shacked up with, married and had kids by that female, all in the future, all in his head, mentally dandling a young Gately on his mutton-joint knee while this mental Mrs. G. bustles in an apron she sometimes at night provocatively wears with nothing underneath. By the time he gets where he’s going, the drug addict has either mentally divorced the female and is in a bitter custody battle for the kids or is mentally happily still hooked up with her in his sunset years, sitting together amid big-headed grandkids on a special porch swing modified for Gately’s mass, her legs in support-hose and orthopedic shoes still damn fine, barely having to speak to converse, calling each other ‘Mother’ and 'Papa,’ knowing they’ll kick within weeks of each other because neither could possibly live without the other, is how bonded they’ve got through they years.

aconissa replied to your post: I’M SO UPSET

IM LAUGHING SO HARD

I’M SO UPSET

wolflioness replied to your post: I’M SO UPSET

I’M LAUGHING SO HARD

I’M NOT

nondeducible replied to your post: I’M SO UPSET

EW FUCKING EW

I KNOW I KNOW

thecumbercollective replied to your post: I’M SO UPSET

DONT STEAL MY MILK

that’s what i’m here for

don-gately replied to your post: I’M SO UPSET

I just heard “Margaret ffffffucking Thatcher” in my head in Cliff’s voice.

I LOVE CLIFF

“YOU WANNA START SOMETHING, YOU START IT WITH ME”

Feeling the edge of every second that went by. Taking it a second at a time. Drawing the time in around him real tight. Withdrawing. Any one second: he remembered: the thought of feeling like he’d be feeling this second for 60 more of these seconds — he couldn’t deal. He could not fucking deal. He had to build a wall around each second just to take it. The whole first two weeks of it are telescoped in his memory down into like one second — less: the space between two heartbeats. A breath and a second, the pause and gather between each cramp. An endless Now stretching its gull-wings out on either side of his heartbeat. And he’d never before or since felt so excruciatingly alive.

David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest