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Saturday, January 04, 2003
While eating at a Mexican restaurant recently, I heard "There Is A Light That Never Goes Out" sung in Spanish.
This post speaks for itself.
Franz Kafka said this. Franz Kafka is very obviously my hero:
"I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound and stab us.... We need the books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea inside us."
In my heart, Franz Kafka is holding hands with Walt Whitman.
the sea, it swells like a sore head
and the night, it is aching
two lovers lie with no sheets on their bed
and the day, it is breaking
on rainy days we go swimming out
on rainy days, swimming in the sound
on rainy days we go swimming out
you're in my mind all of the time
I know that's not enough
U2, "Electrical Storm"
I am scattering my tales like seeds on the wind, hoping one of them will lodge in your throat when you take a deep breath of fresh air and choke you to death. This just means I post vague references to things on hot blog action.
(Random sidenote: Do I care if you hate me? Hahaha! No, I don't.)
1. My inner narrative has been innerly narrating things for me, and then I swallow the narrative, and it disappears. It's been so cloudy here lately, all white and no blue.
2. My eye is still twitching: I don't think you understand how distracting this problem is. It is less distracting than, say, muscular dystrophy, however, so I should stop trying to get your attention with it. The MS folks will win every time. I got no reason to complain: my body parts all work, mostly, even the baby-making ones, often to my chagrin.
3. There was no one hot at the airport when we went to pick up Nicole's mother and brother. There was, however, a hole in the radiator afterwards, a little bird stuck in the terminal beforehand and too much hot chocolate from Starbuck's in the middle. The bird made me sadder than any of it. Of his death I am convinced.
4. You betray my love and friendship AND YOU WILL NEVER GET IT BACK. (For those playing at home.)
5. We watched a long-lost home video of an old Thanksgiving on New Year's Eve. My dead grandfather was in it, just the way I remember him best, and while it was a joy to watch, it hurt my heart. I went to bed early, almost too tired to sleep. The sheets were cold and soft in the best way, the kind of way that only happens at your grandmother's house somehow. I imagined a husband there beside me as I listened to the house settle. One day I will devote myself.
Friday, January 03, 2003
Did you know that you can walk into an airport carrying a bright red gas can and no one will stop you, or even approach you for questioning? Sure, the pilots and flight attendants on the empty floor you exit on will cast wary glances in your direction as you disappear into a bathroom with said can for long minutes, but nothing will happen. You can't take tweezers with you on a flight, but you surely can merrily troll the terminal with any sort of object whatsoever.
Thursday, January 02, 2003
I will tell you my tales upon my glorious return, which is not yet.
It's a beautiful day out. I've been listening to "Electrical Storm" like crazy.
Monday, December 30, 2002
You want me to buy something? You want for me to buy ridiculous shit, like pet sperm or patchwork jeans? You get Morgan Freeman to persuade me. Morgan Freeman could get me to buy anything, I bet.
g-g-g-ghost.com, featuring Hot Blog Action, front and center.
Almost all of my internet real friends live far, far away. The people I love best (do you dare question my love? do you?), I don't get to see or touch or even talk to on a daily basis. One is across the sea in England; two others are scattered a thousand or so miles away in opposite directions, way up high and unreachable. This is cruel. This is unacceptable. What am I going to do? I ask myself, when I start to think about the unfairness of it all.
I am going to riot. I will bring the flaming torch back in style, hardcore.