|11.06.2000 - 5:08 pm|
Rock bands. My head is caught in teh world of rock bands. Too bad finding a drummer here was not nearly as easy as finding Dave for Feedback Loop. Still, even without a drummer, Tim (the bassist) and I are still having big ideas. Not that we think that we're going to be rockstars, but we have musical ideas, stage ideas, and the urgency to play. So I'm checking www.craigslist.com and www.sfmusician.com with a crack addict like frequency. I should clarify, frequency in the crack addict's desire for crack. I bet not too many people on the rock surf the web a terrible amount.
I was tired this weekend. Sleepy tired, yes, but I was also exhausted. I didn't want to get out of bed. I just wanted to not think, not act, just turn off and be. I did quite a bit; went to a show, a party, hung out with a lot of J-Me's friends, ran around a bunch. I did have fun, but I just wanted to stop for a while.
I miss my bike. I should get it on my Thanksgiving trip. I like going fast.
I need more furnature. I need a big table for my mixer, and recording gear. Another desk, but this time a big one, would work. the drawers could store cables, mics, etc, and the top could hold the recorders, mixer, speakers, outboard gear, etc.
I'm liking it here, but it's getting normal, day to day, the vacation feeling is wearing off. The city is still fascinating and big and fun, but it's also the place I live, and that's sinking in. It's sad sometimes, but mainly good. Home I go through the dark, chilly air to hopefully rock.
|11.03.2000 - 11:38 am|
Haloween has passed. I was a Ninja at the Saturday night party. I looked
like Scorpion from Mortal Kombat. I was killer. There was karoke at the
party. I sang Panic by the Smiths and Livin' on a Prayer by or favorite
sons of New Jersey.
Daylight savings time. In many ways Indiana was sheltered, and while daylight savings time is not all that threatening, it's kind of weird. One say, it gets dar at 6:30, the next day it's dark at 5:30. FIVE THIRTY. That's just too early.
I wonder if that has anything to do with my perpetual sleepiness. I've been getting 7+ hours of sleep per night, but I'm still a zombie the entire morning. I wake up, groggy, I hop in the shower and come to life. I get dressed and walk to carpool or the BART station, and the morning air invogorates me. Once I sit down, then I start to collapse. I have some coffee at work, but it's a long, slow slide down to lunch. I eat, then I want to fall asleep. FINALLY, about two pm, I might snap into it again.
Music, for the first time here in San Francisco, is going well. I met this guy named Tim, and we have many of the same ideas and aesthetics. He plays bass. Now I need to hunt down one of those ever elusive drummers.
The studio is still not setup. I can't really record anything in the apartment other than guitar or bass anyway. And I have to do that as quietly as possible. Maybe I should get a pod. HA! If I found a nice, secure practice space I'd take the gear there. Maybe I should just use my computer for a scratch pad, or get a cassette 4 track.
Tired, happy. Yep.
|10.23.2000 - 11:02 am|
Almost two weeks to the minute since my last update. This past weekend
was very similar to the weekend two months ago. I went to point reyes
again, with the same group of people, plus one. The plus one was J-Me's
mom. We actually made it all the way down to the lighthouse, which was
much like a stairmaster in the sunshine and ocean air.
Staring down made me think of how mesmerizing water can be. When I was younger and I used to play near and in creeks, streams, and rivers I'd look off bridges near the creeks, streams, and rivers. I'd look straight down off the bridge, and if the water was wide enough, anything solid on the shores would be out of your peripheral vision. Stare for a few seconds and it starts to feel like you're on a moving bridge moving over still water. That was always wonderful to me, when I could knowingly trick the perceptions of my body.
When I was watching Twin Peaks these past couple of weeks, I always noticed when they'd focus on the waterfall between scenes or just before or just after a commercial. It's the same idea, mesmerized by moving water. Unfortunately, the TV isn't all that big, so it's hard (nearly impossible) to get rid of or ignore my peripheral vision. Still, whenever the waterfall scene came on it made me happy, relaxed me, and took me in.
From the lighthouse view at Point Reyes, one can look down on jagged rocks close to the cliff wall. Water comes up from the ocean and surges, crashing over the rocks. It's so far down that the bigness of the situation is easily lost, and the water seems to move and foam in slow motion. The distance can make the scale seem smaller, which makes the motion seem slow.
It reminded me of hugeness and scale, and of looking into the strip mine of 80 or 94 in Chicagoland that whatever band I was in would drive by whenever going to Chicago or Wisconsin. it the base of the stripmine was a semi trailer, and it looked so tiny, so far down. The mind can be so confused by scale. The mind seems to shrink huge things down. I like it when something like that kicks my mind into the realization of size. I read books of particle physics for fun, and space, cosmology, etc. All of these subjects deal with immensely small and immensely large numbers and spaces. I thought I had an okay grasp, but maybe my understanding of scope is not as developed as I thought it was. maybe my mind is not as accomplished in that sense as I thought.
In other news, the band I thought I was in is taking a break. They're going on a hiatus, and while I think they will get back together, it's not 100%. I'm really missing playing music. At least my ADATs arrived today. Tonight I will hopefully clean my music room and begin to get the recording gear set up. OverModulation, the apartment version.
|10.9.2000 - 11:46 am|
Monday again. I still like the job, so it's not all that bad. I'm
listening to Shellac MP3s, which make me feel all sneaky since Shellac
doesn't like unauthorized recording. However, I've bought nearly
everything by them.
The weekend was quite good. Friday I got a burrito after work, bought some records (new Radiohead, Atavin, and Slavic 747, in which Sohcahtoa is thanked), and went home and watched a video. Saturday I got some keys made, and played drums with a local indie-rock band, which went really well. Afterwards J-Me and I got some dinner and went to Bottom of the Hill for a free show. After getting our asses shook by this techno meets indie rock trio we left and rented some twin peaks episodes. When I got home I had a message saying I was in the band if I wanted to be. Sunday I woke up, did the morning stuff, and then went to Point Reyes with J-Me and Jen. A fun day trip.
Point Reyes is a little lighthouse on the end of a pennisula about an hour or so north of San Fran. It'd probably be a much shorter boat trip as most of the drive is doubling back. You have to go north, then turn around and go south on the pennisula. The road is crazy and twisty as hell once your on the pennisula. And there's just dairy farm after dairy farm. But I got to thinking, this landscape probably isn't that different from what san francisco was before it was settled. I began to imagine roads and buildings and people spread out over the hills of the pennisula, like graph paper and cardboard buildings. Archetectural plans like some montage in a movie.
Sunday night was trivial pursuit, which I won with the answer "wayne gretzky". Then home to cap off the weekend with video games and tinkering with my computer.
|10.3.2000 - 4:40 pm|
Oh happy day. After tribulations for the past week, I finally got my burner working. It was an external burner that I bought used. then the SCSI card didn't have the right adapter. The free one that I previously got from work was fried. Anyway, I stayed up 'til 2 or 2:30 last night removing the burner from the case and mounting it inside my computer. I need more mounting hardware.
Today was, quite honestly, transit hell. I leave my house at 8:15 or 8:30, and I sit and wait for the bus. I've noticed that there aren't many southbound busses on College. So I sit and sit and sit. Finally I walk. I get to the BART station about 30 seconds after a bus passes me, and in the whole sit and walk experience I counted 6 busses that passed going the other direction.
I get to the BART platform just as a train is pulling away. I grab a discarded newspaper and sit and read for 15 minutes. The train comes, and I notice that it's going kinda slow. It turns out the train in front is having problems. We come to a stop just north of the 12th St station in Oakland and sit for 5 minutes. the train in front of us has a stuck door. At the 12th St. station we pick up the people from that train. So the train is now extremely packed, but at least it's moving. When I get to the Embarcadero station I shove through the people as friendly as I can, which is not very friendly, mainly due to the fact that I have to push people out of my way.
The streetcar ride to work was pretty average except for the very gay, man asking everone on the bus questions about San Francisco. I didn't have many answers.
|10.1.2000 - 2:50 am|
I've decided to tweak with the look a touch more. Of this journal I
mean. I'm just getting antsy.
Tonight I saw a show. Many cute, major key based girl-pop bands. A scenster covered show, and like almost any all ages shoe, the place was hot and uncomfortable by the end.
This show was in Santa Cruz by the way. I didn't see any skateboards, though.
On the drive home J-Me, Sammy, and I (the show goers) passed One Infinite Loop, the Apple Computers headquarters. I was oddly excited.
The desire to rock seems to be growing exponentially. I should sleep however. I'm disoriented, and I'm sure this entry is crap.
|9.28.2000 - 2:25 pm|
I've made my online journal thing much too complex. Now, to add, I have
to move the old file and insert the new one. But I usually write on the
spur of the moment, but always straight into the html document, so I feel
I need to make the code changes first, and that removes most of the
inspiration to write.
I'm sure I'll figure something out.
I like Thai food, but in moderation. I think the peanut sauce, while very tasty, sticks with you for a while, and it convinces you not to eat any other peanut sauce while it's there with you. The peanut sauces are exclusive from one another, and don't want to be cheated on. So no more Thai for a bit.
San Francisco really opened up the random thought portion of my brain. Already today I've disected the Cars (the rock group), why bicycle messengers use track bikes, and my compulsion to always use the same mug here at work even though dishes are done every night and put back in the cabinet. I've had the same mug since day one.
I've missed wheels. My skateboard is finally on it's way. My bike hopefully soon thereafter. I've been looking at motorcycles. I pretty much hate cars now, too. Strange what a big city will do to you. Also, it's strange because I never rode my bike or used my skateboard that much in the first place. Now, out here, surrounded by bikes, motorcycles, and skateboards, I'm constantly reminded they exist, and I miss mine.
Tonight I play drums with some local indie-rock band. I'm looking forard to it, but I'm also leery of it. Hanging out with strangers. I'm not used to playing music with strangers.
Or just strangers at all, in general.
|09.25.2000 - 10:05 am|
An oscillating weekend. Busy friday night feeling like an outsider at a
glam club. Slow, restful Saturday afternoon. Busy saturday night being
the sober watchdog at a party and being the BART shuttle. Slow Sunday
resting and recouperating and watching movies. It's more or less daily
life now. Am I missing the city?
When I moved I was so excited to be here, the idea was enticing, and I love the city and the people and the trains. I find great pleasure on the subtle humming the electric BART train makes as it accelerates from a stop. I eat at neat restaurants, and I go to neat stores. But in the time I've been here I've only made it to a few shows, no museums, etc. I'm retreating too quickly to the residential life. I need to be a bigger tourist.
I've been listening to the new Shellac and the Shipping News album. I miss the rock. I met a guy who plays guitar and writes songs, and our two practices already show a pattern of music that pretty much begins where I left off in Indy. I never though I had that much of a sound, but I'm finding the sound harder to escape. And this sound is not as rockin' as I'd prefer. it's not as ugent, and when I play, it's not reflecting what I'm feeling. I'm stuck with ideas, but in my old ruts and no musicians. I don't even have most of my recording gear out here, so I can't put down ideas.
Still, I feel bad complaining. I've always felt bad complaining, unless it was about being sore for mysterious reasons. Now I'm sore, but it just from the walking.
|09.19.2000 - 10:40 pm|
Beep beep beep. We have connection at home. Sure, it's just dialup, but
it's nice to have anything. I'm glad my computer still works after 3
weeks of down time and being moved across the counry.
My daily life is quite different. The commute, which takes 1.5 to 2 hours of my day if you count both ways, is done mainly with me sitting. My job is one where I have to labor in a real office environment, and when I go to a show I'm a complete stranger. When I play music with people, I can't read their minds, I don't know how they play, what their feel is. I have to re-learn how to interact.
The pad is a medium sized apartment, although huge by bay area standards. I miss being able to make loud noise in my house.
Still, the adventure of being out here is fresh daily. It's continuing to be adventurous.
|08.29.2000 - 11:00 am.|
|I wanted to write an entry yesterday about moving sneaking up on me. About my anticipation and excitement for the unknown. however, I also thought it'd be a good idea to re-design the daily diary page into a series of pages, and after the re-design, I lost the inspiration to write.|
|07.16.2000 - 3:00 am|
Once again I realize just how busy my life is, yet how when I slow down, I feel useless and get depressed.
Friday I drove to Bloomington for work and then played a show with Airiel.
Between band practice and show arrival time, which was 6:30 to 8:30, I had
nothing to do. I ended up getting coffee and walking around, which was
fun and nice, but for a while I felt down and alone. Why?
Today (yesterday by offical standards) Saraswati played a nice show at the fountain room. What a nice place, except I think all our loud bands confuse people. That's really quite fine with me, though. Both other bands were from Illinois (peoria and chicago), and we all went drinking afterward. Out of town bands are nice because when they're in my town, it's like they're on holiday, so they're relaxed and wanting to have fun. We all had fun.
Just a few minutes ago I was turning on the stove light, the house nightlight. I looked out the kitchen window, and I could see the full moon light reflecting off the pong water. I can't remember the last time I saw reflecting moonlight, or any celestial body's light reflecting off of water. I was quite lovely, even if the pond is manmade.
|07.06.2000 - 2:55 pm|
My office reflects my home. Water leak. Yeesh. The air conditioner condensation drain is clogged and is
currently, slowly, overflowing. I called and had the huge puddle
vacuumed up, but more is coming out, and no one has returned to fix the
now in pieces air conditioning unit. Oh well. I'll call again before I leave.
I sometimes like living at my mom's place. It's in Noblesville, which is about 25 miles from work. This past week, once I got all my stuff moved in, it's been my motel room. I'll leave for work or whatever at 8 or 9 am, go work or whatever, go eat, hang out, blah blah blah, 'til finally I got home and get home between 12 and 1 am. I've never had the chance to set up my stuff. In fact, i've been sleeping on the floor up until last night because I had nowhere to put the stuff on my bed.
It's hard condensing from 1300 square feet to 100 square feet plus 1/4 of a garage. Hell, let's go by volume. In the old place I had 15,600 cubic feet, in this one, I have 800 cubic feet in my bedroom plus maybe 200 in the garage. Fun fun fun.
however, the pieces are beginning to fall into place, which is quite exciting.
|07.02.2000 - 11:55 pm|
|Still exhausted. While I'm not a dirty person, I have certain areas of life in which I'm messy. I have periods where I organize everything on my desks at right angles. Most of the time however, everything ends up everywhere. I have a tendency to keep too much stuff and over-organize. Packing was so much trouble because I wanted to have 50 boxes, but each one would have a few items in it. Then I'd come to another item that wouldn't fit into my previous classification scheme, so I'd start a new box, then I'd look at the other boxes and wonder if maybe a few items should be in this new box.
I tried to organize my stuff into the following categories: guitar gear, drum gear, studio and "other" musical gear, computer stuff, immedeate items that I'll need and want at my mom's house, stuff I'll want to move to san fran but won't need at my mom's house, and "deep storage", aka stuff I don't want to take to california but I want to keep anyway; momentos, yearbooks, etc.
I re-discovered so much stuff in this move because I also wanted to get rid of a lot of my belongings. There's stuff I haven't touched since I moved into the Brookside apt, and even some stuff I haven't touched since I moved into the 964 house. I've obviously been living happily without this crap for a year or greater, but when I got to toss it or donate it, a switch gets flipped in me and I don't want to toss it.
Maybe my memories are just too attached to the physical. Perhaps I'm very American in my possession of belongings? Maybe I'm just sappy and I like to hold in my hands the very same things I held in my hands when I was living the memories I'm now day dreaming about? Maybe that's why I haven't moved 'til now? This city, no matter how dry and lifeless it can be, is the location of the streets, buildings, and people that have been active in my daily life. Every time I pass 46th and college I think of the countless shows at the sitcom. When I'm on 465 south from the north side to the east side I think of going to my grandparents house every weekend and taking that route. When I pass Brebuf high school I think of winning the battle of the bands there in spring of '93. The Nora area reminds me of Derrick Hurst and driving around in his Omni. East Washington St. reminds me of all the hours in Guitartown. there are so many little memories that come back not because I'm actively thinking of them, but because they're triggered by a landmark of some sort.
I think one of the reasons I've decided to move is because of Panhandle guitars, a guitar store on Fell and Divisadero in SF. I went in there, I hung out, I became an acquaintance of the owner. I found a landmark, and it's something that made san fran not just my vacation destination, but gave it a feeling of daily life. Panhandle is a physical connection to a actual life in san fran. When I travel, I think one of the things that makes my head spin is to realize that in every town I visit, many many people are currently living lives as complex or more complex than mine. It's very much the thought of a five year old, but I think it, all right? Sometimes everywhere else seems untouchable, and indiana is home. When the weight of reality hits me, even if it's kind of a dopey realization about people living lives all over the place, moving seems possible. Now, a realization of reality is hitting me, and a chance is here.
But god damnit, why do I have so many attachments? Physical, emotional. So much stuff I want to take. Luckily, it's mostly music gear, which I think will be worth the effort, and maybe one box for memories, and one empty box for the future.
|07.02.2000 - 1:50 am|
|My watch is a bitch. I just noticed
that it's July first on my watch, and that's because yesterday was June
31st. But the date function is not 100% functional. Plus, when I go
through this ritual every two months, the knob has become still again,
probably from absorbing my lovely sweat.
Maximum Gestapo played at a party tonight. We rocked, people either liked us, or didn't get the joke, but a few people had both reactions simultaneously, which was the most scary. You see, Maximum Gestapo is my fake german electronic metal band. I'm playing guitar, andrew is also playing guitar, and Jason Cavan, Marmoset drummer, is the bassist. We're also using the Alesis drum machine.
So I played at a party, and it was a big party, and people liked it. Then, after the first big party, I went to another party. Both parties were PARTY type parties, and really a lot of those times I'm quite miserable. However, between the two parties, nearly all my friends were represented, and I really didn't want to sit at home alone.
Maybe, if I was goal oriented tonight, I'd have gone home and gotten stuff done. Blah.
|06.29.2000 - 2:30 pm|
|I got me a pair of skate shoes. Nothing fancy, just the Target brand for $14. I much prefer the aesthetics of big clunky type shoes or even converse all stars, but neither of those are good for skateboarding or biking. So I got me a pair of skate/bike shoes, and while not the most stylish piece of outerwear I own, they're damn comfortable; soft and squishy and firmly holding my feet in place. I'd forgotten how comfy shoes can be after years of all-stars and pay-less vinyl doc knockoffs.
Moving is going well, even if it's driving me crazy. Up and back to Noblesville and lots of carrying of heavy stuff. Packing up all the gear and finding places for all my little trinkets and unclassifiables is growing more and more complex. Blah.
Rent free living, however, will be nice!
|06.23.2000 - 1:50 pm|
|I eat food. I like it. Food is good. I like eating food with my friends. Friends are good. Food is good. Good food with friends is good. Good food with good friends is really good. Granola bars are good but not as good as good food with good friends. Eating good food with good friends makes me feel more good that eating a good granola bar by myself.
By the way, moving sucks and my teeth are pansy weak teeth.
|06.08.2000 - 11:15 AM|
|Career advancement? Baring unforseen
tragedies such as personal or family injury, or death, I'll be moving to
San Francisco at the end of summer. Why?
I've been to San Francisco twice this year. I initially thought I'd hate it. I really don't like Southern California. I really just don't see any advantage of many places over many other places in this country. Sure, Yellowstone is beautiful, but you can't really live there for many reasons. Chicago, Louisville, Madison, and Milwaukee all have aspects making them nicer than Indiana, but they also all have downsides. People live everywhere, I've lived here, and moving always offered more loss than gain.
To my surprise, I really, really liked San Francisco. I thought there was a lot of hype, but there must be a reason why so many people love it. there is, and if it's hype, it's hype that also happens to be true. There are hilly narrow streets, historic buildings, big, green city parks, beaches and chilly water (not the bikini clad so-cal types), a climate from 55-80, the air feels fresh all the time, never opressive, lots of independent businesses, cheap restaurants, all varieties of people from all over the world, tons of clubs, great music stores, good radio, lots and lots of shows, and a great mass transit system. I almost didn't want to like it, but sometimes I just like things that everyone else likes, too. Plus, everyone seems to have a great computer-related job.
Of course there's also the girlfriend factor. J-Me moved to indy, hated it here, and took off. We were pretty much done for, and I think I'd accepted that. I didn't like it, but I'd accepted it. But san fran still loomed large in my head so I went to visit again. I had some time by myself in the city, and I still thought it was great. I drove around and went places by myself, got more or less lost and just explored. I had fun. I knew this would be a place I'd like living in even if I wasn't involved with J-Me. So I'm in a pinch, a touchy situation where I can hurt my friends or my girlfriend (or both) depending on how I word my thoughts on this topic. I'm not moving because of a relationship, but the relationship is what makes the moving feel acheiveable, less scary, and it'll be nice to be near J-Me again.
Why am I moving then? I've liked many towns, but never moved. I've never been shown that I can have a life in other towns. People complain that indy is restrictive. I never saw that, at least not until recently. People seem hungry to live in San Fran, probably becasue it can be a struggle sometimes with costs and whatnot. In indy people seem to glide by. Not my friends, which I think is why my friends are my friends. Most of my family and most of my acquaintences seem to glide by, happy, calmly, but with not furvor or passion for life. There's also music. I've been in bands for 10 years in this city. I've played most of the clubs, and most people know me. I'm a big fish in the tiny, $5.99 wal-mart fish bowl. This almost made me stay. Thinking more, I think I've reached my growth potential here. I make music with my bestest of friends who I love, but after exposed to this new frontier, staying in the same place seems so restrictive, potentially joyless. Inspriation at practices has been low, moral has been low. I figure I have 10 years left in the loud rock band world, I think I'd better try my hand at another place. My roots are deep here though, very deep and they're getting ripped out right now, it's all confusing and difficult in the music world.
Life is uncertainty for Ben right now. I could move and be completely happy and enjoying my new surroundings. I could come back a failure with my tail between my legs. I just hope my close indy friends understand and forgive my if this hurts them or affects them. I want them all to visit.
I'm not gone yet, but I don't want to go with a bang. I want to slip out the back door when no one's looking, the people who didn't really care will forget about me and that's fine, and the people who do care will hopefully write and call. I plan on leaving with tears and hope.
My warmest thanks, and sorry for all the bad cliches.
I've been in constant dull physical pain since she left, too. On April 1st, moving day, I pulled something slightly helping Eric move a couch, twisted my ankle helping J-Me load her car, loaded my drums in my car, drove to bloomington, unleaded in a basement, played, reloaded, unloaded at borders, played, reloaded, drove home, unloaded. Yeesh. I haven't felt right since.
I may sound like I'm whiney and I'm complaining, and damnit I am. I'm not much a of a complainer. I'm usually one of those "life gives you lemons, make lemonade" people. Now I feel like squirting life in the eye with lemon juice.
I've been having semi-disturbing dreams again. Dream that make me wake up and quietly look around inside the house to make sure no one else is there. When I try to remember the dreams, though, that's a different story altogether. For instance, the only thing I can remember about one of the dreams I had last night is this: I was wheeling a Fender 2-12 combo amp around by casters. J-Me was with me. We came across a train wreck. I wooden boxcar was splintered and all over the intersection. The train was stopped. We decided we'd try to carry the amp between two cars, but we were afriad we'd get hurt or the train would start moving. I woke up not long thereafter, it was 3:30 am, I was panic-y, but I wasn't sure why.
I'm on a tie kick. I wear so many button up shirts that I've started enjoying loosely wear ing a tie without fastening the top button. It's a fun look. I think it also startles people in my office. Coincidentally, or perhaps non-coincidentally, J-Me got me a tie for valentine's day. It's shiny, soft, and vintage with this interesting, unplaceable design. I'd be wearint it today if I'd not warn it yesterday.
Today, no caffiene so far, scruffy look, and not liking the bright light. I need a nap.
The leak kept on. After the first cleanup, though, it became much less menacing and turned into an annoyance. Every couple house I had to mop and vac up the newly formed lake. It was getting on my nerves, but at the same time, it was in an isolated area, so I think I did a good job of letting it exist in it's own little world, both in my head, and in the house.
Finally, after talking to the landlord a few times, he suggests turning off the water to the hot water heater. this is done when I'm gone but my friends are at my house. Behold the miracle, the flood has ended, he lake had dried. A price, however, is paid; I have no hot water.
Please, miser landlord, please replace my hot water heater.
I begun to shave, careful to use short strokes. Long strokes will clog the razor with too much hair. I left the faucet running, something I don't do at home because those PSAs about conservation and recycling that I was bombarded with in junior high still haunt me to this day. If everyone turns off the tap when brushing their teeth, America will save 30 million gallons of water a day. I'm just guessing. So I shave and brush my teeth with my left hand on the faucet at home, turning it on quickly when I need it, and back off just as quickly when I don't. I finished, and rather than splash off the remaining foamy cream with copious amounts of water, I simply wetted a paper hand towel and wiped it off. I realized lather that this rubbed some of the creme into my skin, and with it's bragging of containing aloe, my skin felt, and still feels, nice and soft. I packed and disassembled my tools, unhooked and refastened the shirt, and was on my way. I felt like something out of a 40s or 50s movie. For some reason, there's always a shaving scene, and the guy is doing it at a hotel or an unfamiliar house, and the film shows you all the paraphenelia involved, and the action of shaving is very aparant and conscious. I kinda felt cool.
The photocopier began to run, it's one wall over. Cinder blocks, yes, but still he sound came through. he cycle of the copier was faster than the water, and I could feel their tempos match and drift and match and drift. It sounded like a sound experiment. Like something by Cage or Reich or Neubauten or Moore, Moore being Thurston who seems to be mentioned with the greats more and more.
The photocopier stopped and my head snapped, but not physically. This is where my head goes. I know it should be on more serious matters, more immedeate matters, but all my friends are at work, and I don't know how to start these conversations. I don't know how to step up and say, "hey, listen, I need to talk," because I know maybe 50% of the time it's going to impede on their standard daily happenings.
I used to trust my own judgement. Hell, I still do when it comes to me, but when it comes to other people, dealing, interfacing, interacting, I've found that my judgement is not the best thing to follow or to trust. Thinking or talking to myself becomes difficult because I question my logic, but I question my logic by applying my logic to my logic, and then I question the second level of logic, and you can see where this is leading.
As so mister computer, and mister, miss, and misses world, that's why I type to you. Because before I can really think, I need to clear my mind of the songs stuck in my head. This is me playing the songs, which works but always surprised me. It seems like listening to what was stuck in your head would just be like a hammer, bashing the song further into the background of your daily operation. Still, let's hope this gets the song to the back so that I can get on with what's really in my head without distraction.
|01.26.2000 - 11:32 am|
Frozen pipes and a drafty house. Well, not really a house. In fact, I don't know what to call my place of
residence at all. I used to call it my building, but I stopped that... not
sure why. Apartment would fit, except for the fact that I'm the only one in
the building. I live in a big, one room building with tall ceilings. It was
built for commercial purposes, but was converted to a residence. It's a
studio, more or less, but the more is emphasized since I use it for a
Vomit. I did that about a week ago. It's probably something that will stick out in my life until I do it again. At my current rate that should happen in 2008, and will be too soon. I think it was the raisin bran that makes this most recent episode so memorable.
I think I want to be a rockstar. I don't mind working, but I think being revered and adored would do fine too, especially if it pays the bills. If my rent was cheaper, I'd give a shot at being a professional recording engineer and/or producer. I think I could do that and be happy. At least I'd fill my days playing with nice gear. I sure dig that nice gear.
|01.11.2000 . 9:55 am|
The last two nights have been filled with uneasiness and sleeplessness. The last two mornings have
been filled with cheap cappucino. I wish I could remember my dreams more
acutely. Last night I dreamt I went back to high school to spy on a
science teacher doing secret research. it was this neat seaside high
school. I dressed the part of the punk kid who no one liked, but instead,
everyone liked me because i didn't give a shit about school, I knew all he
teachers, and I talked over their heads in what they were lecturing.
plus, I'd just go to the classes I liked and sit in. I walked into a
class in the dream and asked what it was. they said it was the history of
scientific discoveries. I said it sounded really interesting, so I just
I was thinking yesterday, briefly (I'd forgotten about it until now), about how I missed school. I miss going to classes I like and learning about interesting topics. I don't miss the grading, and the 75% or more of classes that are awful. I think that's why I liked the dream. I was interested in school because I could go to the classes I wanted to go to, I knew how to talk to people, and nothing bothered me.
|01.03.2000 - 12:20 am|
I got out of my house today. I usually do everyday. But today I did it alone. I went to Bazbeaux's
pizza, and I sat by myself. With me, I had my bag, and I proceeded to get
it out and so my bills. Sitting across from me were two hipster girls.
Every so often they'd talk quietly and giggle in a hushed tone. Perhaps
I'm paranoid, but I had a feeling that it was about me. I began to
notice my actions. I noticed the way I sorted me bills out into waste
pile, to be paid, and stubs of paid bills. When I got my pizza, I
meticulously cut out a slice to minimize the stretched cheese effect.
When it was hot, I ate the pizza with a fork and knife, like I usually do,
so as to not burn my mouth. Basically, I notice all the quirks about me,
all these odd idiosyncracies, things that, even when I looked at them in
detail, seemed odd and meticulous. I felt very much like an eccentric
person. I'm not neat, but there are certain thing I'm meticulous about,
certain routines I have, certain ways I keep things in order. I may be
messy, but in certain aspects of life I have very ordered routines. I
dunno if I like that.
Later on this evening I went to the Abbey for the first time in a long time. I sat there and read the Kafka book Matt Chandler bought me for X-Mas. I felt so stereotypically uber-hip. I was in a coffeeshop reading kafka. I was also eating a big piece of chocolate mousse pie. It was very rich, decadent. I felt like a member of the upper class, reading kafka, sitting in a coffee shop, eating sweets. It reminded me of pre industrial times, where the poor had to work every day to eat, and the rich had the money and had recreational time, and there was not much of a middle class. It was an odd switch from the feeling of being an eccentirc earlier in the day.
And yes yes, y'all. Happy new year.