the crappy batteries
i bought at ... 11:00 yesterday morning have ceased to power my cd player, and so finally i have had to slink
home past the two-block radius frat party
on the lawn of my apartments. i'm damn glad i could get through at all this time. jesus, it was frightening. i have never seen so many people standing in front of my apartment. even the time billy threw the party with the live band and free beer.
so, here i am, home at last, listening to the same mix i've had on all day.
MindWired IV : The Lizard Dreaming
1. ghost in the shell theme
2. coil :: windowpane
3. front line assembly :: silent ceremony
4. Loreena McKennitt :: mummer's dance
5. vnv nation :: standing
6. machines of loving grace :: butterfly wings
7. tear garden :: in search of my rose
8.darling violetta :: suffered angel
9. einsturzende neubauten :: the garden
10. kmfdm :: mysterious ways
11. fur elise, the trance remix
12. sisters of mercy :: lost boys theme
13. covenant :: final man
14. dada :: sf bar 63
15. wumpscut :: soylent green
so, i suppose i should talk about dinner last night. not much to say, really. as with all such things, many words were left unsaid, and a few revelations were made. much talk about the past and future of film and of science fiction. much good chinese food was consumed.
Starrynight walked me to class after dinner. didn't carry my books or hold my hand, or any of that stuff that guys tend to do in that situation...but, just to have him walk with me and to continue speaking of whatever the subject had come to at that point was enough to break my heart and numb my fingers. with everyone else who had ever tried, it had seemed like a tiresome obligation was being attended to, no matter how solicitous they might have been. i don't claim to know what goes on in his head, half the time we are nearly different species, but having starrynight walk me to class felt like a gesture of kindness. sometimes i think he's just trying to confuse me. *half-hearted curmudgeonly scowl*
fighting time / so hard i pray that this moment lasts forever / and will the world stay standing still at least for me?
he held the door for me, gave me a hug, made his farewells...i looked up and met his eyes for just a moment as some new flash of protective humour slithered across his scruffy face. i totally forgot the pomegranate in my pocket. i'd meant it for a gift. i totally forgot the world for a moment...i laughed, i cried, i drop kicked my own heart....i did none of these things. on the outside, i suppose i simply froze. i wanted to (chastely!) press my lips to his, and impart the inexplicable inspiration and enlightenment that had begun to seize me. (obviously i didn't do this either, i'd been eating garlic, for one, and i really don't think he'd have let me that close to his face, garlic or no.) instead i muttered something unintelligible, and he slipped away as i slipped into the building in an ecstatic creative haze.
class went quickly, and somehow, i managed not to wind up at a small party. instead, karen and i wandered to the library for a bit, and she tried to take me home. tried. the party literally stretched two blocks in at least three directions. she dropped me back at the library and went home.
i wandered about in a daze for some hours, cold, alone, and without pencil or paper. i walked through the streets, drawing every eye to what was apparently my +10 bubble of instant presence. i smirked. i wore sunglasses. i loathed myself and most of the idiots around me. finally, i wound up outside the church where my brother and i used to talk late at night. i sat on a railing and smoked, staring up at the full moon. the creative urge had become painful. i had to get something out of my hands before they turned against me. i could feel the gnawing ache in my chest and in my extremities. i braced myself, and walked up to the frontier...if nothing else i could doodle on a napkin. the pain let up a bit after i got some orange juice into me.
not nearly enough. i began to walk across campus toward home. i passed the mother tree where my brother and i used to stop and play in the dead of winter. i stood by it a while, until the world suddenly moved without asking me. balance gone, vision questionable at best, i went slamming into the ground, landing one foot in the (*shudder*) duck pond. i'm still assessing the swelling on the finger that got bashed on the way down. i think it's just sprained, possibly compressed. world still whirling, i hauled myself out of the water, and staggered toward home. somehow, i made it to the alley that ends right in front of my apartment. there were frat boys in my deck chairs, throwing empty bottles on my porch.
too much. way the fuck too much. i walked through them, moving them by sheer force of will where necessary, and vanished into my apartment. home. home at last, three hours later than i intended, maybe more, i can't be sure anymore. i went upstairs to my room to get out of the leather and the greasepaint and into something ... well, it isn't like anyone would be seeing me before noon... i realised that my curtains were open just the tiniest slit when the flashbulb went off. resigned, i tossed on a housedress and came in here to write. they'll realise their mistake when they see the pictures sober. what a waste of film.
there was once a pope who said, "kill them all, god will know his own." and sometimes i am sorely tempted, but i just can't find it in my heart to give enough of a fuck to get up off my arse if it were on fire.
so, it's several hours later now, and i'm at work, eating the pomegranate that somehow persisted in being in my pocket. at this time, this daylog is at -1. i have to admit, i never understood voting on daylogs at all, nevermind downvoting. it's my life dammit. if you don't like it, be glad you're not living it.
yeah, i'm an opinionated bastard, but hey, so are all you downvoting morons.
i really don't want to go to my next class. i just want to go to the pub and have a pint of guinness. and i...holy shit, getting pomegranate juice in your eye really stings! uh, right...and i really don't cherish the prospect of sitting in a stuffy classroom listening to discussions on pauline christology. christology is great, my professor is great, it's just the stuffy and pauline parts that inspire such reluctance. saint paul, im(ns)ho, was a loser who jumped on the bandwagon to keep from getting his arse kicked. his christology is an occasionally self contradictory conglomeration of popular religious thought and philosophy at the time. frankly, it's crap, and i wonder how the epistles of paul made it into the bible when the gospel of thomas didn't. it's sick.