June 1, 2001 (2:29am): I'm a-goin' down this road a-feelin' sad, lord, lord, and I ain't gonna be a-treated this-a way...
Gaw. I'm just about at my wit's end.
I don't know what to do. Who does? Damn damn. A fella can't just work a decent job, eat decent meals, share what's on his mind and rest when the sun goes down, can he?
June 1, 2001 (8:16pm): I was flipping through a local newspaper, saw an announcement of the engagement of an old girlfriend. (Those who know me: No, not the most recent engaged ex.)
I was looking at the picture of her and her fianc�e, and something said to me, "Ag! You gotta call her!" 'Course, I didn't. Still, some part of me wanted to ascertain just whom this guy was that she was saddling up with.
I dunno. I don't even care, honestly. We only went out for six weeks or so. Well, three weeks, twice. Hadn't given it a second thought.
It's just strange to see someone from your past, reappearing in your thoughts and in a different way. A twinge of remembrance, a tweak of ponderance. Strange.
June 2, 2001 (1:55am): On second thought, New Morning isn't all that terrible. I mean, there are some real stinkers ("If Dogs Run Free"), but it's not a complete loss.
Just like Another Side Of Bob Dylan, it's taken New Morning a while to grow on me. There are some decent tracks. "Day Of The Locusts", "New Morning", "Sign On The Window", "The Man In Me". Not too shabby, afterall.
Still, that scat-doobidy-bop crap in "If Dogs Run Free" really grates on my nerves...
June 2, 2001 (11:31pm): Watching Superman II, eating some Kettle Korn, and waiting for my red beans and rice to finish cooking. Ah.
Bubble bubble, those beans is a-cookin'.
Had an okay day. Went to a party at Bob's place. Didn't stay too long, actually. It was raining and getting a little cold. Still, pretty cool. I even got a teeny-tiny sunburn. Wow, eh?
June 3, 2001 (3:04am): Oh, geez. So tired. Can't remain awake... Need tea. Only have green tea. Grass is not a stimulant.
Need to get up and go to Charleston in the morning. Gee, I never do that... How novel.
I'm pretty dense when it comes to females. (I just said that to someone online, thought it bore repeating.)
June 3, 2001 (9:22pm): I did go from wanting to be someone, now I'm drunk and wearing flip-flops on Fifth Avenue.
I heard that line in a Rufus Wainwright song, and it nearly floored me.
I should say that, yes, I was a little drunk, and yes, I was wearing flip-flops at the time. I was not on Fifth Avenue, however. I was on Lee Street.
It's just incredibly odd that my ill-timed public inebriation and ill-advised apparel sparked such a bizarre twist of fate. Maybe not twist of fate, but definitely coincidence.
I had some gin before I left my house, it really hit just as I got to Charleston. Not much, but enough. Very surreal.
I got some coffee and set out looking for a place to sit and wait a while. Not for anything. Just waiting. The afternoon had a very American Beauty-esque feel to it. You know, like when everything's eerily calm and okay, there's nothing too wrong. I kept expecting to get shot from behind, a la Kevin Spacey. Both a peaceful and unnerving feeling.
I thought about the most peculiar stuff, too. I was wondering, for example, how society has come to glorify food preparation. What is it with fast food chains that, if I may point out, adopt the motif of pirates and clowns? Do they realize that all we're doing is just eating, like we always do? I thought about boycotting all food given reverential preparation treatment. Only foods in lackluster packaging would suffice. And not even processed foods like cereal or hamburger. That would mean extra effort went into artifying something excessive basic.
But then I noticed that the same effort applies to coffee and tea. I wasn't about to boycott that.
June 4, 2001 (12:53am): So much to plunder that I think I'll sleep instead.
Good plan.
June 4, 2001 (1:53am): In Nick Hornby's High Fidelity, the main character Rob Fleming said that in a woman he was looking for "a new pair of ears" for his record collection. Yeah. Me too.
Music is pretty much how I relate to everything. I mean, I always end up talking about it, thinking about it, referring it to friends, and so on.
So wouldn't it just make sense to find someone as preoccupied with music? Hey, and then it wouldn't be a preoccupation. (You call something a preoccupation when nobody sees how important it is; just a cop-out way of saying, "This is what I am on my best days, fuck you if you don't care to get it.") Then it'd be a welcomed topic of conversation, no matter how often it was. No more jerks rolling their eyes and waiting for me to uneasily change the subject. Damn women. I'm not branding them all, but are any of them "five and ten cent woman" not full of bricks? Aren't there, for example, any possessed of wanderlust?
June 4, 2001 (2:52pm): Still looking for a new school. I dunno where to go. Hmm.
Honestly, though, at this very moment I'm just sitting here singing "John Wesley Harding". It's raining outside, and I'm bored. It's as good a thing to do when bored as any.
June 4, 2001 (11:36pm): Eeto... Damn. I started this entry... Can't quite finish it.
My ears are ringing. I was sitting by my stereo for a few hours, listening to stuff with headphones on, volume excessively loud. Haven't done that in a long time. Forgot how like me it was.
There's nothing like The Fury Of The Aquabats! playing so loud it vibrates the little plastic phones.
June 5, 2001 (8:19pm): I think I just heard a horse whinny. That's odd 'cause I don't think we have any in the field by my house.
No, wait. Yeah, we do. I should look outside more often.
This is evening is strange. It's cloudy, but the clouds are spread out very thin, like watery cream. The sun's still shining bright as ever, so, in chorus with the green of the millions of trees here, everything's been cast in a sickly yellowish haze. It's very conducive to melancholy. Not that I'd need prompting in that area.
Complementing the time is Rufus Wainwright's Poses. Very artsy, but very personal. Also melancholic. (Am I making up words here?)
There's a thin layer of dampness on everything I touch. The kinda feeling that makes you miserable. Hrm.
June 6, 2001 (12:48am): There's just no one listening anymore. I've lost my audience. They don't have the patience for fairy tales anymore.
June 7, 2001 (9:54pm): Oh me, oh my. I've been neglectful. I've been reading Kerouac's Vanity Of Duluoz. You understand.
June 8, 2001 (4:28pm): I haven't gotten much done. There were many things I wanted to do while home for the summer. But time and lacking resources have kept me from getting them done.
I'm thinking about just going back to school when I originally planned to, next month. That means I have about three weeks left here. It's disappointing.
But I couldn't find a job, no matter how vigorously I looked (and yes, ye old jackass nay-sayers, and you know who you are, I did try). I suppose I'm just not anyone's idea of a safe bet.
Most friends here have been flaky or indifferent, so I may as well return to Salem and resume my studies. I don't really want to go back, seeing as I want to transfer elsewhere, but at least I can get some credits in my pocket. I'll just switch to required classes, they'll be easier at Salem anyway.
This has been a time which I'll look back upon, and think, "I should have tried harder." There are many of these times. But really, I couldn't have. It's charming to think that if one tries hard enough things will happen, but it's just not true. There must be opportunities to seize, which I've not known, and there must be support from family, which I've not felt, and most importantly, there must be faith and promise from friends.
June 9, 2001 (12:07am): I hate leaving things undone.
June 9, 2001 (1:01pm): Hrm. I just woke up. Some forsaken AT&T "representative" (i.e., pencil pusher) just called and interrupted my peaceful slumber. I was angry, and no one was around, so I had some fun.
"Mushi-mushi," I said, in poorly-remembered broken Japanese.
"Um, yes, this is AT&T blah blah blah blah something something," she said.
"Sumimasen? Nihongo de itte kudasai."
"May I speak to the head of the household, please?"
"Well, whatta you take me for? Horary ol' Neptune?"
"This is concerning your long-distance whatever whatever something something."
"What's Neptune need with long-distance?"
"Would it better for me to call back at a later time, sir?"
"Nawp. I'll still be Neptune."
Click. I hung up.
June 10, 2001 (6:47pm): My legs feel really weak. Hmm. I've been riding around in a car all day. Need to get out and stretch mah legs, ah reckon.
June 11, 2001 (1:59am): I don't think I'm applying quite enough effort to these pages...
June 11, 2001 (7:21pm): I'm being swept away in a stream of time. It's going by too quickly, and I can't keep up.
It's because I spend too much time trying to straighten out all I'm thinking. The thoughts just collide and nothing gets settled.
June 12, 2001 (12:11am): I saw a commercial for one of those silly '70s "easy rock" compilation CDs. It was shocking. Shocking.
See, all the tracks they played in the commercial, I knew. It was the fucking most bizarre moment I've experienced all month. When I was a child, before I became the opinionated music connoisseur I am today, I listened to "adult contemporary" radio, either in the car with my mother or just in the aisles of K-Mart. The music, which in time I came to know exceedingly well, lyrics, melodies and all, was imprinted on my developing sensibilities. As time wore on I stopped listening to it in lieu of exerting my own tastes on everyone else. Then today that commercial came on and POW!, the dam of my formative years' memories burst open. I caught myself singing or humming the bits of each song played, and it was...weird. I was thinking, "Whoa! Where the hell did all this crap and knowledge come from?" Then it was disheartening to think that that huge a part of my life, be it in the past as it was, was forgotten. Then exhilarating to know that it was so easily restored.
Eh, anyway...
June 12, 2001 (1:47am): I finished Vanity of Duluoz today. Took me long enough. I just don't read very speedily.
I'm on to Visions Of Cody next. It seems that Kerouac is the only author I can follow with any diligence. Just his style, very easy to approach. Though his self-referential habits annoy me. And he constant references to authors and artists and philosophers leave me out in the rain from time to time.
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June 13, 2001 (1:40am): With kung-fu I will kick your ass!
June 14, 2001 (1:43am): I walked today. A lot. I walked a lot.
It was pretty cool.
It was in Spencer, just a tiny little rural community. I'm used to walking everywhere in Charleston, but there are always streets and the general hub-bub of a large town. This today was along barely-paved roads and up and down hills. Interesting.
It's too goddamn hot tonight. How'm I supposed to remain cheery in the midst of all this oppressive heat? I can't! Crazy from the heat, they say.
I've just resigned myself to going back to school on time. I don't have much of a choice. No one seems to wanna let me earn a living around here. No living earning means no money, and no money equals being choked in your own inability to amuse yourself. And pay your bills. So it's back to school where I resume work-study and receive meager wages each month. Dammit.
I wanted to stay here. My friends are around, which is a rarity anymore. I guess it's my turn to focus on bullshit responsibility. Getting used to it.
June 14, 2001 (2:07pm): Oh, yeah. Another red letter day today. Whee. Hold me back, now.
June 15, 2001 (2:25am): Yup. So I'm a-gonna go back to school in two weeks. Oh well. I've got some damned fool class like Geography or American Government or something.
What's really gonna bug me is having to go back to my apartment. In the middle of summer. I have no air conditioner. Sigh. I'll just melt to death. Simple as that.
It won't be so bad, going back to school now. No one's there, only about 60 people or so. Campus is better when it's empty, anyway. We can claim dominion over the TV in the cafeteria with no challenge to our sanction.
June 16, 2001 (1:54am): Tonight feels kind of sad. I don't know why. It just hit me a few seconds ago.
June 16, 2001 (3:27pm): Shiite Muslims. Oh, those wacky Shiites. Glory be.
Ugh. I just woke up about half an hour ago. I kept waking up and choosing to stay in bed. It's Saturday and I'm stuck at home. What'm I gonna miss by staying in bed? TV?
Now that I'm up, I think I'll... Damn. Nothing, really. Maybe read.
June 16, 2001 (11:48pm): Anyway, today was Adam's birthday, so we intended to go bowling. But the bowling place (parlor?) was closed for repairs. Dammit. And I'm sure a good bowler.
So instead we just kinda wandered around Spencer. Didn't find anyone we knew, not really. Heh. Who'd-a thought our friends had places to be on a Saturday night? Funny.
June 18, 2001 (3:26am): Dun dun deh deh deh deh deh deh deh! Everybody sing!
Dammit. I went a whole day without adding an entry here.
Tell you what I was doing, I was caught in a whirlwind of nostalgia. I was searching the attic for old GIJoe toys, and sifting through my comics for old GIJoe comics. I'm really taken with that stuff at the moment.
So... Well, that's no good reason. Still, at least I wasn't just sleeping as usual.
June 20, 2001 (12:45am): I'm not being very attentive.
Still working on those toys, and reading those comics.
I ate saurkraut today. Yum yum. I actually really like saurkraut. I'm not sure if that's two words or just one... Saurkraut or saur kraut? I know saur is German for sour. Big surprise. Hmm. So confusing...
June 21, 2001 (12:11am): Curses. I went to a hardware store, and they didn't have the rubber bands or screws necessary to rebuild my toys. Bah!
Other than that, nothing's gone down today. Isn't that what you hip youngsters say? Gone down? Is that "jive", yo?
Just a little over a week 'fore I go back to school. Eh. I'm ambivalent about the whole thing. I mean, it'll be something to do, having class and such. But I've gotten used to being here, too.
What a po' fella t'do?
June 21, 2001 (7:23pm): Oh Jesus! Touch meh, lord, touch meh! Touch meh with your song!
Heh heh.
I'm bored.
Lordy, I do so love central air. Especially when I can sit on a vent and watch TV.
June 22, 2001 (3:26am): The power keeps going on and off. Bah!
Oh, it's a fair price to pay for the wonderful thunderstorm outside. Shouldn't have this computer on, but it's late and it's the only time I can get anything done.
Thunderstorms in summer are best. Well, usually. If they're at night, after the sun's gone away and the sky's cooled. 'Cause then the rain on the grass doesn't turn into fog. It just kinda makes the wind colder, which in turn makes my house colder. Ah...
June 23, 2001 (12:43am): Um...
What'd I do today...? Hmm. I can't remember, really.
Let's see... I made a mix tape (of my favorite songs from albums I never listen to)... I worked on my webpage... Ate a cheeseburger... Ate a pastrami sandwich... Read some comic books (Brett Booth is a poor-ass artist)... Showered...
It's been raining again today. I don't mind the storms during the day while they rain, but afterwards it's nearly too damn muggy to bear.
June 23, 2001 (1:38am): It's a lonely night tonight.
And I'm mad, but it's a restless kind of mad(ness). I'm tapping my foot really hard against the desk, and...well, I dunno. Just kinda mad and lonely.
And I have a headache, which never helps an already-poor disposition.
June 24, 2001 (11:23pm): Oh me... It's Sunday. Everybody knows what a winner day this has been...
Let's see, I think I'll just synopsize my activities today.
Woke up at 2:23pm. Kept putting off getting out of bed, which completely derailed my efforts to get used to getting up early for class (which starts next Monday). Brushed teeth and washed face. Checked email; none to be checked. Changed all the CDs in my stereo; programmed select Dylan tracks. Laid back down and listened to "Ballad In Plain D", "You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go", "I Don't Believe You" and "Stuck Inside Of Mobile With The Memphis Blues Again" (my "new favorites"). Drifted off, dreamt about "Shakespeares in the alley" (a la "Stuck Inside Of Mobile...").
Woke up. 3:32pm or so. Went to a flea market. Was disgusted by the degenerates there (and, gee, I thought I'd be hob-nobbing with kings). Found someone giving away teeny-tiny kitties. Broke my heart. Couldn't take'em home, but I named'em anyway. Slippery Pete, Pickles, Timmy and Polyvinylchloride.
Went to the dollar store, bought three bags of cotton candy, one bag of bubble gum lollipops and one bag of hot fries. Went to the grocery store and bought two Granny Smith apples, a jar of mild salsa, one package of pesto sauce and a box of frozen microwave macaroni and cheese.
Stopped at McDonald's, got large order of fries and a large ice water.
Came home. Took a shower. Ate too much beef stew. Ate two bags of cotton candy. Felt sick. Watched a movie. That's about it so far. Hrm.
June 26, 2001 (12:17am): Ag! Have to pee! Be right back!
June 26, 2001 (12:34am): Ahem. Anyway.
I again went twenty-four hours without adding something to this. Curses.
But there's nothing to say. I haven't done anything. So bite me.
June 27, 2001 (12:51am): Today has just been a big...dumb...day...
Ugh.
I went looking for pants. Couldn't find any. I'm convinced that the hub of capitalist dogma lies solely in the belief that only fat people are consumers. We thin few apparently don't need to buy things. 'Cause I could only find pants that would wrap around a streetlight five times. My pants would go maybe once, if even that. Hrm.
So anyway, in the sea of fat folk pants, I found none worth purchasing. That really pissed me off.
And, dammit... I'm just ticked off. It's this damnable heat, I think. I may have hypertension. Whee. That'll go along great with my bronchitis.
June 27, 2001 (8:28pm): Well, my apartment at school is gonna be hell. Literally. I couldn't get an air conditioner, so my quarters will seethe with seasonal steam. Curses.
And joy, I'll be in its midst in little less than two days.
Otherwise, I'm looking forward to returning. I want to resume my classes, and at least I always someplace to walk to on campus. Granted, it's just the library or the cafeteria, but it's something. I think.
June 28, 2001 (11:38pm): You know, I have no regard whatsoever for people who insist that same-sex couples will "learn their lesson, they'll pay for what they're doing." Such bigotry. Makes me feel ashamed.
She tugs me in and then she screams
'One day you will have to choose
Either take care of me or take care of you
And don't pretend you're not bad news...'
I went to a lake today. Summersville Lake. Big lake. Lots of water, and rocks. Got a mild sunburn, can still feel the waves. Just a little.
Well, it's off to school in the morning. *Sigh* It's gonna be a real bitch moving all my stuff back into my apartment. Up two flights, which is worse than it sounds. But I'm grateful for a little decent hard work. Cleans the soul. I don't have all that much to move in, just a lot of books and clothes and such. Thankfully no furniture. Whew. I've done that once, and that's enough. Whoever moves into my place after I leave can just keep the couch and tables 'cause I sure as hell ain't gonna huck'em about, no sah.
You can never change where you're from
No matter who I will accuse
Gonna get on with a better life
And one day I won't be bad news...
Funny thing: I'll be returning to school exactly one year from when Shawn and I first arrived. Hmm. A lot has happened. He's engaged. I'm...well, you know who I am.
June 30, 2001 (6:02pm): Don't have much time to make an entry. I'm in Don's room. And it's fucking hot.
Got moved back into my apartment yesterday, that's why I didn't make an entry. There's so much stuff to put into place, and I'm not a clean freak, but I don't wanna leave it all lying around. Whew. This heat is too much...
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