Your GAGA ridicule, I hate to love Kevin Drew, but not you. Taking advantage of advantages. Sliding into a more commonly masculine perspective (why? Not sure. Keep catching myself being a meathead.) Turning down male modeling/acting for no specific reason. "It's okay to not understand yourself." Not sure I believe it. I wonder if I believe in God because I use the word believe when talking about it. I wonder if it matters. Not feeling so good about the word "wonder" anymore after Thomas Loebel and Emily Dickinson. I've been looking at pictures of people who don't know they're going to die. Well, I assume they know that they're going to die eventually. But I like it when the photo contains the imminent death and they don't see it coming. I prefer anticipatory punctum to the shock-value catharsis of aftermath. It is 6:30am and I haven't slept yet. I have an optometrist appointment in 3 or so hours. "There's no point in sleeping at this point," he typed pointedly. I was supposed to be communicating via meta-everything with someone and she stopped playing the game. Now I don't know whether it's part of the game or not. Maybe this is, necessarily. I was approached by a beautiful girl on the subway today because me and my brother were loudly singing Bruce Springsteen and she asked me for my number. I wonder if I was actually attracted to her or if I gave it to her because I was attracted to the idea of something like that happening to me. I wonder if it makes a difference. Perhaps I should nip this "wonder" thing in the bud. I'm curious as to whether it makes it a difference. Ah, that's much better. Many of these thoughts are skewed by late-night reading of Jonathan Safran Foer's Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. Today I helped a lovely girl surprise a lovely boy. A few days ago I did mushrooms and went to a strip club with an infantry officer (who didn't do any drugs, military), a slum lord and several of my treasured cronies. I did not run into anyone from high school this time. I've been downloading music and it makes me feel like shit but I don't care because it's mostly bands that have a good deal of success. I really plan to buy the albums when I have money but I just don't right now. Maybe I will steal them somehow, which I would love to do, but even so, that's just as problematic as downloading except for the fact that it feeds my object identifications. Although I guess the record stores and their insurance write offs probably eat the cost of the stolen record rather than the artists themselves. (Jerry: Do you even know what a write-off is? Kramer: No, but they do...and they're the ones writing it off)I should look into this. Also, typing about planning crime on the Internet is funny because literally everything I'm doing is being monitored at all times (though I'm sure it's not very attentively in my case. I'm not that interesting or important, governmentally speaking.) I am also very interested in the fall of network television. It will begin with NBC almost for sure. I wonder how many years it will take before everyone merges with Google or something. Rogers digital cable (which I can't afford but still have because of basketball. More on basketball later.) has a new feature which I thought was annoying at first but is actually awesome. You can choose a preselected pack of six channels and watch them all at once based on genre. Like, it will find game shows for you. And basketball. And cartoons. Or the news, if you're into watching that on TV. It seems like a stupid way to get your news, though. 60 minutes is good sometimes. Andy Rooney is hilarious. Have you ever seen him rant about kitchen utensils? That's good TV. McLuhan wouldn't think so; it doesn't use Chiaroscuro well enough for him to approve. Also, there's a vague plot. You should probably try to find some of his old CBC interviews from the 60s and early 70s. They're peachy AND brilliant. Also, Gilbert Arenas is not allowed to play basketball for the rest of the season because he and another guy, who isn't good enough for me to remember his name or to continue having much of a career after this massive suspension, brandished guns at each other in their team's locker room. It was over a gambling debt. The suspension is without pay too. I wish I could play basketball incredibly well. I would want to be on a team like the Phoenix Suns because Steve Nash is the role model in that locker room. They have intelligent discussions and teach each other how to eat healthy. I need someone to teach me how to eat healthy, I think. My wind is really bad. I'm probably going to start running or something. Although I've made several attempts to do this before and I never do. I guess that can be said about a lot of the goals I set for myself. I've been writing a lot of new riffs lately. I have a pretty big arsenal of dope riffs right now. I need some lyrics. I'm finding topical inspiration in places that didn't infiltrate my sphere of poesis, as they say, before, but are now seeming more and more beautiful. The words aren't quite there but I can feel them bubbling to the surface. I'm not so worried (about that, at least.) I find myself missing a whole bunch of people right now. I'm sure that if they were around/accessible, I would be too busy to hang out with them anyways. It's not on purpose or anything, I just end up treating everyone like that no matter how much I care about them. And then there are days like today where I don't do much except clean my room up a bit and think about grocery shopping but decide against it because of the cold. Even though I like the cold in all other situations, typically. The cold only becomes an excuse not to do something when I don't want to do something.
Anyways, this has been a nice thing to do to fill the time that I am awake and nobody else is. I guess I could have worked on some essays or articles or poems but they just weren't on my mind. I hope I see you soon.
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Somehow it seems appropriate that you should be missing people on the day of Salinger's death, especially after writing such an honest piece. You know, "Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody." If you write too much confessional shit, it's good for the soul but you then end up drowning in nostalgia.
ReplyDeleteFor what it's worth, I miss you too.
February 24, 2010.
ReplyDeleteAnother bloody Wednesday. There seems to be a new one each week. The hump, just a spoke on a wheeling engine of progression - depression - regression - expression. Fuckin' modernity.
He types his blog, alone in the comfort of his displacement. It must be nice to be anonymous. He likes to think this sometimes. It makes him feel more himself. He lights a smoke and hoovers on the idea of inhaling. Ahhh... I haven't had one of these in... He grabs for his pack. Almost empty which means he'll have to put a shirt on and leave the confined cage he calls home and ask for directions in his own neighborhood. I am. I am. I am. I am. His mantra ringing back ad forth between himself, his train of thought, and the void of actuality.
She's like never around and gives weird signals to everyone. People may think she's kind of flakey sometimes but instead she's the most sincere agoraphobe left in her own room. I am. I am. I am. He thinks as he reads this comment. Am what? What are you supposed to be anyways? She still plays the game (you lost).
And I'm stuck here writing a comment over a month late to some sort of vessel of a blog that consumes so many characters. He'll read this in a couple of days after he receives an email. He'll laugh at the meta and have suspicion... but then he'll remember.... He wants to be anonymous. I am. I am. I am. He can't stop thinking about what am is!
Then it hit her on the head: I am.
By the end of this sentence this post will be rendered meaningless.