Entries from October 2004 ↓

New music to wake up to: Jason Webley
and Tom Waits. Men of steeled voices that
rasp the sun behind the clouds and make the rain come.
Gotta fuckin’ love em. I’m gonna see Jason Webley live
tonight at the Backstage, and it’ll kick ass.

Last night was a CD release party at Last Word Books
for Jorah LaFleur, a totally awesome local spoken-word
artist. There was a lot of other amazing literary talent
there that read before Jorah, including some friends of mine,
and all in all it was a grand and inspiring event.
I need to bust out some rhymes!

After the event, my friend Alexis and I went to an
all-night diner for some coffee (at 1 in the morning!?),
which may have been a ridiculously bad idea,
but it was fun, anyway. We made little pirate ships out of
french fries, toothpicks, bits of tuna, creamer lids (for sails)
and a small piece of pickle. It was a thing of beauty.
Then we hung out at my place ’til about four,
tried to pass out because I had to get up early for work,
and both got at most a fitful couple hours of sleep.
We had a really great time, though,
so I’ve no regrets. I’m just sleepy as hell.

–

I purchased myself a guitar tuner, cord, and a kapo;
grace à Emily, who told me not to spend it all on bills.
At the music store, I asked about lessons. They’re a bit cheaper
than I’d thought, so a definate possibility in the near-future,
once I get a second job somewhere, or one full-time position.
I applied for the absolutely, most-ideal job for me in the world
right now, though sadly I think I stand a snowman’s chance
in Cancun of getting it. It’s an assistant supervisor position,
for which I have no more than a couple years basic library
experience; but you’ve got to get experience sometime, right?
I can’t even begin to explain how much it would rock if I got
this job. My application’s in, so now I play the waiting game,
and try to rock the interview (should I get one) as I never have
before. And then, back to my original point, guitar lessons!
I’ve been playing guitar for like 10 years, but I’ve never
had any training, and I’m lazy; so I still suck at it.
I’ve procrastinated too long, it’s fucking time to get good!

Some guitarists / singers / songwriters that rock me:

Jack Johnson
Sam Beam [Iron & Wine]
Doug Martsch
Chan Marshall [Cat Power]
Robyn Hitchcock

I could probably think of a thousand more,
but these are the notable artists off the top of my head;
oh, and Tom Waits and Jason Webley, of course.

Last night I had another dream,
this time about a stranger:
a young woman with asian features
who called herself Troilus.
I find this kind of ironic because
Troilus is the male lead in Chaucer’s
Troilus and Criseyde, which is in many
ways the precursor to Romeo and Juliet,
which makes Troilus basically a pre-Romeo.
That’s an over-simplification to be sure,
but even so. If this is a portent,
it’s an interesting and mysterious one;
and it leaves me too lost to try and psychoanalyze.
And that was it, that’s basically all
of the dream that I can remember,
though I doubt any of the other parts could
have been more interesting. I’m intrigued.

The world around me is sick, but I’m
feeling much better now, though this morning I awoke
with the weight in my head of too much
second-hand smoke. Having been a smoker, it really
bothers me that second-hand smoke should affect
me so much; it’s a recent development, and I
certainly never go around and chastise people for
smoking, but it has become physically difficult for
me to be around smokers. I find this annoying.
Maybe I should move to California? Ha!

Trying to get my life back on an even keel;
temper play with work and growth with frivolity
so that my eyes don’t lose their sparkle.
Having unpacked boxes of books, I’ve realized
that I spend far too little time reading these days,
and my imagination and my pen have suffered for it.
So no more of that, or actually, more of it!
I’ve got lots to do, no doubt, but I can surely
fit a page or two in here and there, and slowly,
once again begin to peck away at the sloppy
leaning towers of books lined against the wall
in our living room (we’ve as yet no bookshelves).
Sometimes I see the books and the X-box glaring
at each other: such immortal enemies as these
no living room would be complete without!
And I, mere mortal, caught between. Woe is I.

Life’s so rough.

There’s this girl on campus that I think
is really beautiful, and she’s Belgian, and
speaks fluent and melodic french; and hell,
that’s enough to drive any good man insane.
I haven’t really spoken to her much, just
recently over the last few days as I’ve helped
her with some reference work on a group project
she is doing, but she smiles at me whenever
she sees me now, which is just cruel.

So anyway, it’s a good indication of the level
of romantic sap that I am that I have a dream
about this girl, and in this dream there’s nothing
more than a smile and the accidental contact
of our hands, which don’t shy away but rest against
each other; like secret lovers of a more innocent
age that silently interwine fingers in the loud dark
of the opera pit. Anonymous lovers washed away
in sound and fire, burning under the skin.
And that’s it, that’s all; a dream about the contact
of hands and then I awake.

I haven’t much chance for a decadent life
when even my dreams are so tame. Which might be
a shame, were I not happy being so circumspect.

–

So I’ve been sick, flu-ish, coughing up the
sticky residue of my sins, sweating profusely and
trying to keep my brain from leaking too far out
my nasal cavity. I’ve taken this opportunity to
quit smoking; for three months, two years, I’m happy
for any amount of time to allow my lungs their
recuperation. I haven’t had coffee in days, and that’s
an addiction I’m certainly unwilling to give up;
yet still a day or two before I’m recouped enough
to recommence the onslaught of caffeine upon my body.

So that’s my excuse for my blog-silence;
that and I’ve felt like the creative equivalent
of a door-stop. Onward, then, to health and inspiration!

In the mornings, I invariably make coffee,
strong, strong coffee; and listen to Diana
Krall sing some great jazz in DTS.
The music really fills the house, and it’s
a great way to start a day. I got a Norah
Jones SACD, but I can’t get any volume out
of it. Saddest thing ever.

So we picked up Burnout 3 yesterday, thanks
to the rave reviews of Tycho at Penny Arcade,
and I’d just like to take this opportunity to curse
him for being right. This game has everything a good
racing game should have, including the wanton destruction
of, well, everything, including your opponents,
and vast hordes of rush hour traffic.
Theo, at least, had the good sense to go out
on a date, have some dinner, see Arts Walk.
All things I had certainly planned on doing,
once, long before Burnout took me in its clutches
and forced me to play it all freakin’ day.
I feel so used; good thing I have to work today.

Work: the anti-crack.