Last night we (being Marissa (my girlfriend), qousqous, flamingweasel, unless, and ideath) went out to see a documentry called Okie Noodling about people who fish for catfish with their hands. The music was done by the Flaming Lips. For me, the real treat of the evening was seeing the trailer for Christmas on Mars, a zany b-movie style production that Wayne Coyne of the Lips is writing, co-directing, and starring in. The preview was a mixture of footage from the film-in-progress, and documentry footage of the progress in the film. Wayne tells, in his highly amusing Big Old Bug is the New Baby Now sort of way, about how he used these skin-like round bandaids to ultimatly attach the antennae to his head that make up his Martian costume.

Have you ever seen Santa Claus Saves Mars? It was on Mystery Science Theater 3000 when I kid. It was my favorite. This movie is a lot like that one. I am very excited.

I sit here alternating with disgust and positivity.

Oregon. I saw the most beautiful sunrise I have ever seen in my life the other day. I was working a temp job, and as my bus pulls down Barbur Blvd, a street overlooking the Willamette River, off in the distantance--the hugest whitest motherfuckingest mountain, Mt. Hood stood craggily in total dark siloutte, and even better there was a dark cloud right above it, in the shape of a triangle. It's alignment looks somewhat like the Illuminati configuration, but not quite. More, actually inline with my Techran hallucinations (which underly the majority of the "artistic" work I do)Directly to the right ofthis sight, The round orange-red sun burst her glorious fingers all over the place & slightly behind Mt. Hood. The sky being perfectly clear and the primal sunrise moment of my day was in full swing. And of course I was reading Scrodinger's Cat at the time. It looked like this:

      /\   *****
     /xx\ *******
    /xxxx\ *****
   /xxxxxx\ ***

Oregon. Trees everywhere, I touch them smell them, talk to them, fixate and want to eat them. But I do not, cause it wouldn't taste so good. But it's not just the trees... It's the moss. It's everywhere, and fluffy and feels like it's alive, networked throughout the city picking up on all the vibrations (mostly positive) from the city's innards. I often bend down and rub my hand on moss, paying attention to how all the different species vary. The smells are wonderful.

I start school on April 1st. I keep forgetting if we're at the year 2003 yet. We aren't. I don't even know yet if my financial aid is going to transfer ok. It's been nearly impossible to find a job here. I registered for classes this morning, which only will further inhibit my job-finding. Which makes the need for my fin aid to work out even stronger, because I'm not going to be able to work 30+ hrs a week and go to school anymore. I'm trying to do the school thing right for a change, but of course I'm caught in a strange loop, where the chain and links of my money causality spins around, occasionally lopping off one of my fingers with a transparent blade.

I have a lot of free time being unemployed. Free time that should be well used to keep up with writing, doing music, etc. But my output the last few months relative to my free time is appalling. I haven't been doing much of anything. I'm at a kind of crossroads point in my psyche with a very strong desire to partake in a particular REALITY MODIFICATION DEVICE. Near the end of this month Marissa is going to visit her parents in Bakersfield for a week and a half. This'll probably be the longest we've been apart in three years. I'd like to find good things before that time comes. But then, I so easily could also chicken out.

I have a delayed personal mind readjusting, meta-programming appointment, going on 3 years since I last tripped alone. So, I hope Portland will help me out with that. I can feel the connection lines of its existence within these city walls, it's just a matter of meeting the right person I guess. Maybe if I keep talking to the moss.

Updated my home node yesterday. Now includes a picture and I'm only level 2. I'd like to think it was fun being 9. But it wasn't. No matter how bad I feel right now, I know that things were worse in my head at that time.