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the latest
waddle: good morning, wordpress - 10:36 a.m. , 2009-07-03 elaborate murder attempt - 2:56 p.m. , 2009-07-01 building a tractor in the basement - 10:42 a.m. , 2009-06-19 ask no questions tell just a few lies - 3:17 p.m. , 2009-06-09 my long lasting flavor really lasts long - 1:10 p.m. , 2009-06-04
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This bothers me a lot. Everything bothers me a lot. Everything seems dumb and childish. The future is like a lie you tell yourself. The future literally DOES NOT EXIST, and O to be an animal and not know this. That is my definition of heaven, right now. FEAR #1: that I will internalize this fact (that the future does not exist) to such a degree that I will stop doing ANYTHING. I will not write the "serious writing" stuff, neither poetry nor autobiography; I will not write the more communicative and (normally) pleasant/funny web things such as this site; I will not bother to connect with the people who are dear to me, because we could talk all day and all night and I still would be bound by these words and this skin so what is the point; I will not go to work because work is just a layer of laminate floating on top of an even flimsier layer of cardboard that is life. (Yes! Shitty metaphors about lamination! I rule! What's next, reflections on love as a 3-hole punch? Mortality as paper-clip chain?) Can we maybe chalk up my manic Weltschmerz to it being Monday? Or maybe the fact that today's Sun-Times Weather Word is CLAMMY? I am looking for excuses here. FEAR #2: Actually came true this weekend. I have this weird foreboding, every time I go out, that I will lose something important or of sentimental value, to the point that I look like a fucking idiot at the end of the evening, playing the pocket bongos before I leave the bar. Only I guess that didn't work on Friday night, because I managed to leave my PDA at the Goldstar. It could not have worked out more nicely, though: some angel had turned it in and it was patiently waiting for me the next day. Still, though. There should be mitten-string-style cords one can buy for attaching the important stuff directly to your person. Listening to: Frank Black and the Catholics, "Blast Off." Best line: "I'm wearing Beckett's pants." I had a dream where I was back at college and had signed up for an advanced Greek literature class, a 300-level, and when I showed up on the first day the classroom was full of people, so I turned around and walked straight to the registrar to drop the class because I am a snob and wanted to feel special in my advanced-Greek-taking ways. Yet another self-loathing metacritical dream. I'd really like to stop having those. I PLAYED MY VIOLIN LAST NIGHT, FOR THE FIRST TIME IN TWO YEARS 1. I have lost a lot of tiny muscle control in my left hand. I never realized how many infinitesimal teeny-weeny muscles are used for fingering. I played for less than an hour, and it hurt. 2. I suck, but I don�t suck as much as I thought I would. I had built up the suckiness in my head quite a bit. My control is not quite where it was, and my bow technique on fast passages is shot to shit, but I still have a okay tone. 3. I had forgotten how nice and bright and LOUD my violin is. German violins (I have a Knilling) rock. 4. I need a coach, and I need new music, and I need to remember how to play in fifth position without hideously overthinking where the notes are. 5. Austin Music in Oak Park does great work, and gave me a nice tall bridge the way I asked, so the strings are high above the fingerboard and take some effort to depress. I like high string action and a high touch on the computer keyboard and I like real buttons on a calculator rather than a flat keypad. When I press something I want it to feel pressed. (Oh BABY.) CUTE, RAUNCHY, AND ILLEGAL LINKS (NOT AT THE SAME TIME) You need to expand your vocabulary. I like the marijuana mobile they've got going here. Calder wishes he'd thought of it first. Or maybe not. NOW THAT'S A RELIEF Graffiti on the sidewalk at Ohio and Wells: NO ONE KNOWS THAT YOU DON'T KNOW. ---mimi smartypants has a lavishly silky bouquet and a dry finish. back/forward |
