|
|
Thursday, June 13, 2002
.
"Come tomorrow morning will you be angry
When you find just a note on your pillow ?
Will you look around your place for my clothing ?
Will you find the strength to let it go ?
- cause I'm letting go... "
"Shallow" - Adam Newman http://www.enamor.org
recap (tonight): "The filter's the best part. That's where they put the heroine. Only us real good smokers know that fucking secret..." Have been feeling ill all day so I quit work early at 6 and headed home to dormish places. *sighs* Soaked my ear in salt water which felt lovely. No really - it was wonderful. It hasn't been puffy or crusty or anything but by about 4pm it was starting to feel rather warm and achy so the cool salt water was a nice change. Called Langri/Steve, who I had movie plans with and then napped for 25 minutes until it was time to head downstairs and meet him on the street. My bloodsugar got frighteningly low on the way to the movie theatre, so when we got there he was my knight in shining armour, and let me take his arm (so I didn't fall over or mindlessly stumble into something) and then bought me dinner. I was all dizzy and faintish. Not good. Its been happening a lot recently - I wonder if I should be concerned. The movie was "Insomnia" with Robin Williams and lots of other people. It was... excellent in certain ways and horrible in others. I thought that it was a horrible story line - very preachy and predicatable. I got thier point by about 20 minutes into it .. and from there on out everything that happened was obvious, predicatable, and redundant. Not good. On the other hand it did an excellent job of capturing the "feeling" of insomnia.. random flashes, hallucinations, altered perceptions, etc. And the characters were very real. Robin Williams was petrifying in that he was so incredibly realistic.
Anyway... the oddest thing happened then. Walking out of the theater suddenly I had to fight back tears for Fox. For missing Fox, and because I will always love him. *sighs softly, sweetly* It was odd. Ended up spilling most of the story to Langri when we got to his office. To which he very practically advised me to "let it go". The thing is - I have let it go. It keeps coming back though. Its like a dream of a room..our room which never was ours really, which will always be ours. Our stolen season together. I keep dreaming and moving on ... and yet every once in awhile I blink only to find myself back inside. -- Looking at how beautiful everything is... all alone. Smelling that smell which rooms have once everything is done and packed, the last thing you smell. Just before you go. When it's so familiar even the floorboards are haunted by memories (Oh, I'm haunted. By the lives that I have loved, and actions I have hated. Ohohohhoh...) but they are all just that. Memories. -- And I have to walk out that door time and time again. I close it softly. I blow away the key... and yet each time, I walk onward... eventually, inevitably, there I am inside again.. and I have to walk out that door. I close it softly. so softly so as not to disturb anyone...and I blow away the key... The odd part is realizing how much I'd kiss goodbye, how many wrongs and misunderstandings I'd forgive, if for once I found myself there, and not alone.
recap (this afternoon):3:00pm. Sitting at work. Still fucked up from the Guiness and Whiskey and cappucino of last night. Felt like absolute shit and wasn't getting any work done so I decided it was high time I got some coffee in me. Work is just a few blocks away from my favourite Minneapolis esspresso provider, so I walked over there with my HVR manual and a few bucks to have coffee. Was barely conscious sitting in the corner, so I opted to put down the manual and relax for a bit.. at least as long as my cigarette was going to hold out. Then the interesting and surreal bits started. As it turns out - the owner of the coffee house is an exiled persian(Iranian) poet. He wandered over (out of the blue I SWEAR i did nothing to draw attention to myself) and we started talking ... it was wonderful. He let me read some of his work, and had a book of poetry copied out for me. As its out of print I think that I may post some excerpts here. Its stunning work... reminded me of epic Alice Egoyan. I'll have to talk more about it later when I am more coherent in the head.
Eventually I will talk about Tim Malloy's Bloody Irish Band, The Half Time rec and getting my ear peirced.. but I can't see straight anymore so it will just have to wait. 'night all.
.