May 6th, 2002


A Simple Case of Timing

One of my older customers today was complaining about how one of his son's high school classmates, a pot head, was now making six figures, and how the world wasn't fair. I'd assumed that "fair" was a concept which attenuated with age, as conception of reality increased, or at least, crystallized.

It's not fair to chain someone down because I'm afraid of being alone. It's not fair to make someone you love feel like you have to put up with them. Fair doesn't go away with age or time; it just couples with regret to become worse. Crap. It's not like I was counting on it, but I did have my fingers crossed.

It's come to my attention that I'm severely boring many of you. There is now a handier way to remove people from your livejournal readership list. I have eighty some-odd people listed as reading my journal (three of whom are some kid named Royce Barber), but I'd much prefer that number reflect my actual audience so that I can shape my tales to entertain properly.

Boring people, making people put up with you, feeling like you're doing either or both; I want those feelings to go away, or at least to subside for awhile. There are thousands of oceans within me, and they all have different tidal cycles. Some I wish I could control more than others. Some I wish were faster; the cycle of longing is so slow to creep in, but then takes forever to ebb. Torture.

I come off as standoffish a lot because I like people at a safe distance. I don't get hurt too much anymore, but I worry about hurting other people. Take away the other children in the classroom and I'm free to run with scissors. Are you shallow because you only can say to most people, "What's up? How are you? What's been happening? Ok, bye."? Does it make me deep, then, because I'm laconic and brooding when I'm in my deeply introspective moods, like this weekend? I feel so shallow I couldn't even submerge myself if I wanted to get away from it all, nor could I drown my cares.

I repeat myself a lot. My mantras are very long, so sometimes it looks like I'm telling a story, or recounting an experience. Really, I'm just meditating. Wide awake and hydroplaning, wide awake and all alone.

I'm working too hard. I'm pushing the lard.
  • Current Music
    Shiner, The Situationist
The view from up here

Pretty Jane

I should probably sort more of this stuff out in solitaire; especially the girly stuff. Yay, thing that happened this weekend: I got an old sk00l paperback version of Live and Let Die, which is the James Bond novel that has Solitaire in it. Yay, pretty!
  • Current Music
    Shiner, Sideways
Want Fries with that?

The Situationist

I don't practice singing quietly enough.


I don't practice singing quietly often enough.

That's better. No commas and no modifiers makes N@ grammatically ambiguous.

"head down,
arms straight out.
left without
having sussed it out."
  • Current Music
    Shiner, The Situationist
Want Fries with that?

Not a question and a question.

My beautiful words attract beautiful women with beautiful minds, and then it just gets ugly from there.

Here's my question: How do you reconcile love with reality? There are so many spaces between, how do you know which ones will fill and which ones are bottomless? When the emotional heights have settled, will I have found that I settled? Should I invest my time here, now, or get the hell out of dodge and look elsewhere?

I am too young to ask these questions seriously and too impatient to wait for the answers I don't yet deserve.

I said too much. I haven't said enough.
  • Current Music
    Shiner, Lula
The view from up here

[ i feel like i should post ] On Beauty

Transfixed. Think about that word for a bit, and then read on. Take your time.

I was looking for a better word than "stare" for how I view beauty, or more accurately, what it does to me. I've always been fascinated by aesthetics, especially according to mass-media ideals. As a child, I could spot the most beautiful woman in the grocery store and strike up a conversation with her. My dad liked to take me shopping. She and I would talk about any number of things, usually beyond the scope of four-year-old conversation. I was known for pointing to pictures of Dolly Parton on the tabloid covers and saying things like, "She's pretty." My parents thought I was saying that she looks pretty, when I was really saying that she is pretty; the Barbie doll-shaped feminine "ideal" of modern beauty. I was trying to figure out why.

I've written about this before. I'm just repeating another mantra. Though mantras recited aloud supposedly lose their power; my aim is obviously more public. I didn't use the appropriate word. I used to think I could catch sight of something beautiful, perhaps in the corner of my eye. I was wrong. Beauty catches me. And the word is "transfixed." I am held by it. There are certain physical sensations that underlie the involuntary; hunger and thirst, for example. Eating fulfills the gnawing sensation of hunger we all feel, a feeling which almost never subsides completely. Likewise, staring transfixed at the face of a beautiful girl feeds something deeper. It's not a primal lust; there's no will to ownership. There is only the need to look more, to behold, to admire and memorize. Who is that strange man, and why is he staring at me? What is he thinking about? It's just me, and I'm not planning to kidnap you. I'm thinking about nothing, nothing but the planes of your nose, the moisture of your eyes, and the arch of your brow. It's a wonderful Zen place, an everything-in-oneness, and is totally without threat to your well-being.

Beauty falls in many forms, like rain. Sometimes, someone will say something or just react in a way that seems beautiful, and that can catch me, too. Honesty is beautiful. I've fallen in love with moments of frankness. I can mourn the death of a few seconds, but not for too long. Just as I've started to settle to the ground, a beautiful breeze will up and spin me twirling through the swirling air.
  • Current Music
    Hog Comma Space, Resident Alien
I'm working on it

Were you me

Given less than fifty dollars to purchase 20 Long Play records, what would I choose? Why, I'm glad you asked. The answer probably reveals more about me than any ridiculous online survey.

  • Blue Öyster Cult, the self-titled debut, which contains Before the Kiss, a Redcap
  • Blue Öyster Cult, Agents of Fortune, which contains Extraterrestrial Intelligence and some song about a Reaper
  • Bread, Lo Mejor de Bread, which is the Mexican pressing of the Best of Bread. Rad because it's in Spanish
  • Fleetwood Mac, the self-titled debut, which contains a picture of a young Christie McVie
  • Free, Fire and Water, which contains All Right Now
  • Janet (Miss Jackson, if you're nasty) Jackson, Control, which features The Pleasure Principle and like seven other hit singles but especially the Pleasure Principle
  • Julian Lennon, Valotte, which contains Too Late for Goodbyes
  • Madness, One Step Beyond, which I bought for no particular reason. No, no particular reason at all.
  • Marillion, Script for a Jester's Tear, which I bought because I am still dedicated to finding out why it is that people like Marillion
  • The Police, Ghost in the Machine, which has Demolition Man
  • Rush, Power Windows, because I didn't have but one copy, and that one a "tape of"
  • Simon & Garfunkel, Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme, which features both A.S.D. Phillipic and A Poem on the Underground Wall
  • Steppenwolf, For Ladies Only, which features Steppenwolf
  • Steppenwolf, At Your Birthday Party, which features Steppenwolf rocking, especially on It's Never Too Late
  • Tears for Fears, Songs from the Big Chair, because I love Head over Heels and those other two songs
  • Ten Years After, Undead, because it's live, and clever
  • Suzanne Vega, the self-titled debut, because *dr00l*
  • Suzanne Vega, Solitude Standing, because they didn't have Days of Open Hand. No, just kidding.

This is how I spend my money. I am very happy with my discs so far, and all seem to be in damn good shape. I am polishing them as I post this.