|
|
i stayed up all night tuesday to finish an artist's book due wednesday.
wednesday i had to spend three hours waiting for my name to be called at the housing department. then i went to see Rasputina. they made everything better. i like watching melora play. she blocks out everything and everyone and it's just her and the cello.
i used to say she was going to be my wife. my ex used to get horribly upset when i would say it. ha. maybe one day i can find someone on par with melora.
in between songs she would talk a bit, not to the audience, not to anything. at one ppoint she said something like:
"one of the difficulties of this kind of situation, where i am up here performing and many people are watching me, is that all of you know who i am, or at least think you do, but i don't know who you are. but you don't know me, as a person, you don't know the first think about me. you think you do but you don't. you don't know the first thing about me, which is I LIKE BIG BUTTS AND I CANNOT LIE..." and yes,the band then proceeded to cover the first few bars of that song, distorted cello rock-style. ahh melora.
on a similar note i have been on a cocteau twins crusade for about 3 weeks and i will never stop.
and a new angels of light album is out! WEEEEE! i must get it today.
|
| "how's it going?" | 2003-02-13 06:55:10 ET |
last night, after waiting for the elevator down, the doors opened. inside was a girl i'd never seen before. i grinned at her as i entered, a sort of acknowledgement and acceptance of her presence, i guess. she grinned back, all within two fifths of a second, and i went back to staring at the floor as usual. but then she asked "how's it going?"
Not used to anything more than the grin (i'm happy if i get that), I replied something like:
"it is so cold out. i just got back from the grocery store. on my way back, i was carrying plastic bags, so my hands were exposed. and my thumbs got badly frostbitten. normally i avoid talking about the weather, but my thumbs really hurt and it's all i can think about right now."
she nodded, the doors opened, and we left. i walked out straight ahead, while she cut a quick right, and that was that. i know she was just expecting me to say something like "not bad". But there were still so many more things i wanted to tell her, like how i was in the cafeteria that morning, waiting next to a boy while our bagels were toasting, and he turned and asked "did you just feel that?"
"what?"
"that shaking."
" no.
But then again i don't consider myself very perceptive with things like that. it could be an airplane overhead, we are in the flight path of logan airport." i said.
"i don't know, i guess i'm a little edgey this morning."
and after that i had to watch apocalypse now in my visual language class, the redux version. granted, it was better than listening to my whiny professor for 4 hours, but that movie doesn't have any effect on me any more. and the redux just drags on and on. during the movie she was pulling students aside to talk to them about the subjects of our art project she had assigned. i have to do an abstract interpretation of jospeh conrad's heart of darkness (hence apocalypse now). she wasn't satisfied with my idea, because i planned on abstaining from any comentary in the piece. so i lied and said i would do so with the finished product , even though i won't. i left the class groggy and disoriented and remained that way in art history when we discussed in depth the mystique surrounding leonardo's works, and cycled through much of his lifes works on two huge projectors, and the lights were dimmed, and sfumato was leaking off the wall and filling the room, and behind me, in the back, i could hear mice and chimerae coming out of vents and ducts to play, and the room and everyone in it began to resemble the subjects that were flashing on the wall and christ it was weird. and the whole day was like that until i got into the elevator with the girl, and her question was just an instant solidification of reality. in that second my eyes came into sharp focus, and there was a tingle that started in my forehead and made its way to the base of the neck. it felt like vinegar and baking soda, and any cloud my mind was playing in instantly evaporated, leaving me to dwell on the firey feeling in my thumbs.
so anyway, even though i know she didn't want to hear about all that, i was still overjoyed when she asked me.
|
| silent noise | 2003-02-04 15:33:49 ET |
i spent four hours drawing a fat, grisly, naked russian man today. they obviously don't screen models here. but i learned quite a bit today. i've always avoided drawing/painting like the plague, i have no confidence in myself with it.
strange days upon us. a lack of friends or entertainment is reshaping my mind; neural bridges being built and tightened until both hemispheres turn inwards on themselves. many things have to be learned all over again; interacting with people (orally and physically), possessing a rigid sense of time, eating, .... while i'm continuing to make progress on learning the subconcious.
the night before the space shuttle exploded, i had horrible nightmares, possibly interpreted as prophetic? i wrote it down when i was on the train with izzy to NYC. i'll find it and post it here.
i've been entrusted with Gothbeater (circuit bent casio sk-1, built by plexus) in ariel's absence. it's very versatile and i've enjoyed working with it very much. i also have his chaos pad, which is always fun to play with. if i can just get my computer set up, i'd be getting somewhere.
" Now, I'm alone. I sit and stare, at my long, long fingers. Ten inches is a monstrous size. It doesn't do to glamorize...
I've taken this before, but I'd like to try it again. But I'm confused between sexual, murder, magic, and medical. Is the difference metric, or imperial?"
I have far too much quiet time here, never when I need it.
If everyone can send me your adresses, I will try to write to you. Any that I did have are on the computer at my home in Connecticut, so I need yours again. Including eulaliacarp, who sent me a postcard as an appetizer, but did not put a return address.
my skin is becoming more and more transparent. soon i will look like i belong in formaldehyde.
the bags and creases under my eyes have become painful looking to other people.
sometimes the silence is maddening. because it isn't really silence. it's the high pitched hum of florescent lights and computer screens, the low whirring of thefans from heat vents, the turning of pages from all corners of the library. all the things I learned at an early age not to acknowledge, they're still there, preventing the natural flow of thought, all energy is expended tuning it out. that was one of the original appeals of owning my first aquarium years ago, now the constant sound of trickling water makes me nauseous. i have dreams of white noise when sleeping next to the tank in my bedroom at home, it's all related, and very damaging.
i have other sleeping problems here, mainly a neighbor that doesn't understand the concept of travelling sound and common courtesy when living with others. she doesn't know the loudness of her own voice, she giggles loudly with equally loud friends late at night. she rips open the door of her room and puts all of her weight on her heels to walk through the kitchen at one in the morning, then shuts the door loudly on her return. i want her loud ass dead. i hear a thud or bang from her room (which occurs often) and i dream that she fell and cracked her fat head open. how many kicks was it again? ah yes, three.
going back to my room now.
|
|