It was one of those snowballing series of events that started off well and just got better and better before rolling out of view.
  • I was departing from a noon rehearsal with singer-songwriter Leah Abramson
  • when I considered my options and decided, despite the heat and the distance, to walk home - perhaps the silver lining to my busted bicycle.
  • Every time I walk any significant distance along Commercial Drive, I encounter at least one person I know. Today there were three.
    • (But that wasn't the best part.)
  • Accordion weighing sweatily against my back, I decided to detour through the cool and shady Trout Lake park
  • where I found myself installed temporarily, feet dangling lazily down, on the end of the dock where we had whiled away the previous weekend - the one inscribed Falling in love is the best form of revolution.
  • As I unstrapped the instrument and squeezed out a few tentative chords, at the noise rustling from the reeds emerged teeming hordes of ducks. (It should be perhaps noted that ducks are turning out to figure large in my personal library of symbols - often present and overlooked but noticed and appreciated not when my life is necessarily objectively going any better, but when I am feeling better about how it is going.)
    • (But that wasn't the best part.)
  • Out in the lily pads, a heron prowls on stilt legs - a small black bird alighting now and again on its tail feathers, presumably in some symbiotic parasite-removing pas a deux.
  • A pair of children run up the boardwalk, beatifically oblivious to the Hawaiian-shirt-clad, squeezebox-armed hairy man, enthralled and engrossed so in the mundane maneuvers of the ducks, who respond to the attentions by stepping it up a notch and supplicating in a full-on display of bathing and diving for bottom-muck.
  • Think, I think. Do I know any kids' songs about ducks?
  • in our last episode... | p_i-logs | and then, all of a sudden...

I must write again. All these ideas in my head must be recorded for my own sake so I can make sense out of them. I've been thinking that my whole life, but I've never had the necessary drive to sit down and write on a regular basis. E2 gave me that drive, but for the wrong reasons. Well at least I think they're the wrong reasons.

Shamefully I admit the lure of the XP/reputation system, the symbolic gauge of progress that provides the all-too-much needed instant gratification. The same type of attraction that has slowed the pace of my achievement throughout my life, ironically has an ability to motivate a very real goal of mine. E2 appeals for the same reason as computers, and video games, and drugs, and hacky sack, and any other of my intimate assortment of time-wasting activities and procrastination techniques. My greatest skill is wasting time.

Shouldn't I have some idea why? I am always in a struggle to make what I know to be the right choices with my time. Two things motivate me: accountability to others, and occasionally my own interior browbeating. And the older I get, the less accountable to others I find myself (or I feel anyway). I know there is some deep-seated issue here, something from my childhood or even my genetic structure itself. This is the thing I long to understand through my writing.

It took me quite a bit of soul search to arrive at this conclusion. As I plodded up through levels 1 and 2 I avoided daylogging for the most part because I thought Daylogs were somehow less important, and I didn't value their reputation because of the large amount of vote dumping that hits them (if not for the wider E2 connotation). Heck, maybe I even felt that daylogging would betray the utter truth of Reputation addiction.

But enough, if the XP system is what it takes to get me to write regularly, then so be it. However, I draw the line when it corrupts my own values. Therefore, from now on I node what I feel is personally important rather than what I think people want. I may not escape addiction, but I can sure as hell put it good use. The result may be so introspective and abstract that it only fits in Daylogs, but that does not decrease its value to me.

Been managing to get my hour a day in on the TV pilot I'm writing, and it's coming along pretty well, which is good, 'cuz I just got a call today from the LA agent that convinced me to start this whole project. He’s wondering when it's gonna be done, 'cuz apparently ABC’s clamoring for shit right, they're hurting so bad in the ratings wars. My wife answered the phone when he called. After I was done talking with him she asked me who it was, I told her, and she asked, "Is he foreign?" I said, "Not really. He’s Irish. It’s worse than being foreign 'cuz they’re convinced they can be understood when they speak." I know I’m gonna catch hell for this, but it’s true!: the Irish are unintelligible. I say this with all love, as I proudly claim my Hibernian-American heritage, but jesus! I lived in Woodside, Queens -- a famous Irish immigrant enclave-- for three years and I swear to christ they couldn't even understand each other!

It’s been beautiful these last few days in Seattle: cerulean skies, with just enough of a chill in the air to keep a slightly plumpish fuck like myself from soaking his shirt with sweat when he pushes his kid’s stroller up Capitol Hill. My wife and I moved back here last October from New York City, and given the wicked weather swings they’ve been having back East, I’m feeling better about the move every day. I just hope it doesn’t get so hot here that we have to leave the windows wide open at night, 'cuz we live on what we affectionately call Crack Alley, and there really is never a dull moment down on the sidewalk.

In my last day log I put the question to the nodegel of whether posting my plays was a good idea. Only Ouroborus got back to me with this cryptic response: "It is a strange thing what this place accepts from its users." So I went ahead and posted the first section of the play of mine that’s done probably the best out in the world. It didn’t catch fire with noders, but it wasn’t an XP bloodbath either, so I’ll probably go ahead and node the rest of it little by little.

But this has got me thinking, what other plays are noded in their entirety on E2? I know Shakespeare’s canon’s out there, and I believe I recall seeing some Ibsen, though I don’t know how much of it has been noded yet. Dare I say it? I guess I’m sort of interested in creating a metanode of plays that appear in their entirety on E2, old, new, short, long, good, bad. If you think this is good idea or an absolutely terrible one, let me know. But more important, if you know of or come across any play noded in its entirety here, msg me and I’ll add to my list. When I get a critical mass I’ll post it as a metanode, something along the lines of “E2 stage plays”.

Lil’ help?

Today has been a very troubling day. Two very different things happened to make it that way. First, This afternoon I found out that early this morning here in Portland, at about 12:30 am, a drunk driver performed a hit-and-run on 3 bicyclists, killing 2 and putting the 3rd in critical condition. The driver was stopped by police 2 blocks later, dragging 2 bikes under the van, a front tire blown out and the windshield smashed.

Obviously, this is unacceptable. This, in Portland, voted 3rd best bicyling town in north america by Bicyling Magazine, or something. And this was not out in the suburbs, this was right over on 42nd and Belmont, where I bike all the time. It could have been me, or anyone.

I was spending all day getting ready for a gig I had tonite. More about that below. Despite the fact that I wasn't really ready, I went to the site of the accident (or should I say "massacre"?) at 6 or so, where a memorial action was taking place, organized by Shift, a bike organization I'm a part of. There were many people there, some holding huge signs that said things like "Cyclist Killed by Car Here".

I'm only beginning to understand the effect this has had on me. On my way home tonite I found myself looking twice at cars driving up behind me. Who knows when one is piloted by someone drunk and careless and, fuck, I'll go ahead and say it: Evil. Because if anything is evil it is a fatal hit and run automobile incident. Even if you're drunk, there's no fucking excuse for just driving on when you plow through 2 or 3 human beings. How could anyone do that? How? Anyone who does should be put in prison for a long long time...

Anyway, what was the second thing that pissed me off today? It seems to pale in comparison, but I will talk about it anyway. The gig I mentioned that was tonite - it turned out to be the most unsatisfying and annoying musical experience I've had in a long long time. It ended up being an ad hoc group improv thing, which isn't inherenly bad, but the people who ended up playing just did not gel. Most of the others did not know how to listen and stop playing. They all pretty much just played all the time, constantly. It was so horrible. Just a giant wall of noise. no finesse, no subtlety, no space. I just sat and waited for most of the time, waiting for some moment of quiet where it would make sense for me to do something.

Furthermore, they just had the PA system turned up way too loud. During the last piece it was actually physically hurting my ears. This is not only because of pure volume but because the digital, superbright sounds that modern electronic instrumentation can produce is very very piercing and potentially dangerous to the human ear at high levels. It literally was hurting, so I stopped playing and plugged my ears for a few minutes. I took my fingers out of my ears in a little while and there was still this horrible blast of painful noise. So I just got up and left. I hung out outside till the piece was over and then I came back in, walking back to my computer and remarking to Scott, "way too loud." I know Scott so I knew he would take it graciously, but this dude Todd that was also playing evidently took it personally or something, because he replied, "fuck you, man". I regret that I did not respond to this. It's one of the many times where I just didn't answer when someone is out of line. Maybe because I was out of line in the first place, but not enough to warrant a "fuck you." If the guy really doesn't understand how loud it was and how bad that is, then he's just a clueless fuck. God I really wish I had said something. What a stupid asshole.

Maybe I sound like some old fuddyduddy but I don't care. If you're younger than me and you think you're a cool musician cuz you can "turn it up to eleven", great, cool, I'll see you in 10 years when you have tinnitus. I know people with tinnitus. I know someone who has to wear heavy duty protective headphones whenever he goes to a show because any loud sound causes unbearable pain. This is because he played in a show with another artist who refused to turn down to a reasonable, non-pain-inducing volume. Can you spell "permanent damage"?

The show was just BAD too. I apologize if any of you were there because I invited you. If I were you I would have just walked out after 5 minutes. It was so fucking bad. Plus it started like an hour and a half later than I told you it would, because someone told me it started at 8 but it really was scheduled for 9.

Of course none of that really fucking matters when 2 bikers are dead today because of a stupid fucking drunk motorist.

Well, I think I just played the coolest practical joke on one of my good friends, Steve. I stole a car. Well not really, but... well just look for yourself.
After reading this /msg me. I like talk.

The players:
  • Me (CrAzE)
  • Tim (close friend)
  • Ben (friend)
  • Ben's dad (a lawyer)
Chronology of the joke
My father drops off his new Dodge Durango to be detailed at the car dealership and gets a rental. The car is a blaze red Dodge Neon with a 6 disc CD change (that so happens to be filled with dodge sponsored car sales CDs (very funny to listen to the tricks they use against us). My father has to catch a plane at the airport and has me drive him there. So I have the car for a few days while he's gone.
I call all my friends, I tell them that I stole a car jokingly just to see if they believe me. They all do. I go to each of their houses and confess that I didn't, except Steve's house. Instead I have all my friends call him and ask if he has heard about "my new car," and he gets nervous.
My and Tim and Ben play Halo at Tim's house while laughing about my car. Then we go cruising in it with the system turned up.
At the grocery store, where the boys and I are gathering snack foods, Steve calls my cell phone. He asks me how I stole the car. I tell him that the keys were in it at the dealership, and that I don't want to go into it any further on the phone. I tell him I am going to cruise by his house and drop it off in front of his house just so I can relax without the car with me fro awhile. He threatens to call the police.
"Steve! Holy shit, I just ran from a cop and am a little freaked! Not a good time to talk! *click*"
Cruising, video games, and food. How does this mess with Steve's mind? He keeps calling my cell phone and I don't answer; nothing too extreme.
Steve calls again and I answer. I fill in bullshit about how I've been running from the police all day and that I think it'd be wise to return it later this night when the lot is closed. He suggests a chop shop. He then drills me with questions on how I got the car. I answer and keep track of my lies on a legal pad.
Steve goes out to eat. We go to Ben's house to consult. Steve calls everyone to invite us to play games at his house. We are all geeks.
I get the idea to ask Ben's dad to call Steve's house when he gets back. Everyone thinks I'm an idiot. I do it anyway. He laughs and asks for any information we have. I have a legal pad of info on it. He plans quietly for an hour or so asking rather basic questions here and there about the day and desired effect.
The call! Mr. Ben's dad call's Steve's house under the name "Detective Johnson" from the St. Louis County Police Department. He calmly asks for information regarding the stolen red neon that was parked in front of Steve's house from 8:40 until aproximately 9:15 and any information about the suspect who was seen approaching the door between these times. Steve freaks. He says that he "isn't sure if he knows anything about it or not" and the good cop quickly becomes the bad cop. Ben's dad becomes stern and grills Steve's continuity for flaws, and verbally lashes him for everyone he finds. Finally, Steve gives information incriminating me of stealing the car. He is seemingly near tears. So are we, but for other reasons.
Tim, Ben, and Drew show up at Steve's house asking what he's heard about me and my car. He talks about how the cops called and he kind of accidently might have said something about me stealing a car of the same make, model, and color. The guys give him shit and fake freak about how he could turn in a friend. So Steve calls me to tell me that he turned me in.
When he calls, I am around the corner from his house out of his view. I tell him in a very nervous, scared, near tears voice that there are like 4 cop cars around me and that I'm scared as shit and am thinking about making a break for it. I take a deep breath and hang up on him saying something like "don't be stupid."
I show up at his house and pretend nothing happened. He figures out it was a joke, and pretends he knew all along. We mock him because we were listening to him freak all day.
The lessons:
  1. Friends are always fun to fuck with.
  2. Get to know everyone's family.
  3. Keep track of your lies or don't lie at all.
  4. Always buy phones with a mute button.
  5. Enjoy yourself. This is of the utmost importance.
It's almost 6am now thursday morning.

the sun has risen & spillt all its light in my windows.

I could tell you the temperature.
It's hot. It's cold. I'm lying.

My words belong to spite & Dostoyevsky & I say them with pride. because I have to.
I write them.
I'm lying.

My head is full of glossy newspaper advertisements & throw away coffeecups.

My head is full of adventure and the future, the next chapter in the plot
(my head is full of plots).

My head is full of thoughts about my friends & family.
They will not be trivialized by novels
the story does not exist to cover the wonderful madness of my loved ones.
I think of them.

Nothing I say is true anymore.
Something I said has truth.

I feel the decay in my words & it saddens me.
I want to carve these words into a brick:
"The time is 5:26am"

I feel like an old man.
Everyday it feels like I get older.
I have no fear of death.
I've felt cosmic vibrations while eating fruit loops. I've smoked a bug.
ha, I repeat,
I've smoked a bug.

Take that, tom mooney.
Take that, allen ginsberg.
I will not drink your tea, take india away from me.
I hate yoga. I practice every day.
Both of these things are false.

I have floundered around too long, far too long, in this silly place.
I am losing, & I hate it.

I am a little boy.

I think I will take my ball, & go home.

On my way across the bridge at Guildford Station this morning, with the other commuters, I found myself walking behind, not unsurprisingly, a middle-aged man in a classic pin-stripe suit. I was about to overtake him, when I realised that he was singing quietly. I was mildly delighted, if such a thing is possible, and I stayed where I was for a moment to see if I recognised the tune - which turned out to be Somewhere Over The Rainbow.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.