Sarcasm is a pale shadow of human interaction. It is insencere, but seems dressed in sincerety, and drives spears of anguish into those with open hearts. I wish I wasn’t sarcastic.
I am.
How can I change this? Open my heart more? Or close it?
I’m in one of those moods where I would love to simply run off, far away from here, and never see any of you again.
Just disappear. Start over. Be anonymous. Be a stranger. Die alone.
Fuck.
It’s amazing how quickly a feeling of general well-being spreads over oneself upon discovery that one is no longer single.
“One Drum is like the mafia: once you’re in, you’re in.” – Il Mafioso, aka Cecilio Negron, jr.
I haven’t been writing much lately. Perhaps some of you have noticed. I simply haven’t had the energy nor the drive for it. It’s not really burnout. It’s more like apathy. Or something like that. Well, I’ve decided it’s time to start writing again.
The other day, Jeremy Kuzniar, Eitan Silver and I got together to play a show for an Aveda benefit in Milwaukee. We were to play during the reception of a fashion show, which was to follow our performance. I ended up recording the 45-50 minute set, and a smile very quickly conquered my face as I listened to the recording last night. I will post it to this blog soon.
The notable near-tragedy averted by dumb luck was after the show: I was fiddling with an umbrella, trying to open it in the back of my car (to cover up an amplifier) when I managed to poke my eye with one of the extended tips. I knew instantly that I had done some type of damage. I managed to remain calm. The situation required it. My eye throbbing, I managed to look in the mirror. A small tear of blood had started to work its way out of the corner of my eye. Within seconds, I was crying blood out of one eye. It was one of those rare moments in life when I was suddenly concerned about not having any health insurance. I managed to dab the blood away with a tissue, and discovered that it was the skin in the very corner (by my nose) that had gotten damaged. My eye was fine. However, my eye swelled up and decided to turn into a black eye. I now look like I got into a brawl. Sunglasses have crucial in preventing the innocent from finding out what I really do with my time.
“I swing all ways. She knows.” – Roman Edirisinghe
When I woke this morning, and got ready for work, I felt compelled to exit via my window again as I had done yesterday. I chose my door instead, and encountered 4 sets of child eyes, all staring at me suspiciously, as if I was a stranger in my own home. I love it when my housemate has guests.
What kind of amused me was that the baby apparently cried during the night, and kept everyone else up. I was surrounded by ocean waves, and slept like a log.
As I had mentioned earlier, my bladder was bursting when I woke from my dream. I really wanted to walk to the bathroom naked, without the hassle of putting something on. My plans were altered drastically by the realization that there were guests over, and children, no less. I had spaced that my housemate Kristin was going to have her friend & kids over. So I heard all this kid noise outside my door, and decided I didn’t want to interact with humans just then. My dream was far too fantastic to be ruined by reality. Frantically, I scoured my room for a bottle, and finding one, proceeded to drain the contents of my throbbing bladder into it. There is no word for the relief I felt.
The next quandary presented itself shortly thereafter. I had a 5:00 pm date with a friend, and the time was quickly approaching. My unwillingness to exit my room via my door hadn’t changed. No desire to interact with a bunch of kids (screaming brats) nor the adults connected to them. No offense to anyone. It was a strange mood. I’m still unsure what to make of it. Nevertheless, my compulsion to avoid them was so great that I decided to exit my house via my window. Which I did.
Moral of the story: the path of least resistance often yields an amusing tale.
Me: “Are you outside?”
Nicole Sparks: “I’m in my car.”
Me: “I hear birds chirping.”
NS: “My blinker was on…”
Laughter ensues…
I just woke up from a dream in which I chased around the streets of the world looking for a pair of blue sneakers to fit my soul mate, who, in this case, turned out to be a platinum blonde whose face I can barely remember. The visuals were stunning – I somehow managed to teleport from country to country, city to city, experiencing the greatest vistas and meeting all my friends along the way. And somehow, it was bloody funny.
Our last exchange before I woke up from a bursting bladder (which I still haven’t emptied), was roughly I follows:
She (smiling): “I want to build a home together, although you’re an ass.”
Me (with a straight face): “Honey, I want to build a home on top of your ass.” (as I hugged her and squeezed her ass cheek)
“All girls are retarded, it is in our genetic makeup.” – Tiffany Morgan