Anyhow, I am planning to read part of a story at an open-mic tonight.
Anyhow, but I've been at work all day, and I don't feel like I've accomplished anything, even though I finished noding the muscles in The Human Anatomy node. Oh well.
Last night I finished another David Foster Wallace essay in A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again, the one about Lost Highway and David Lynch. Interesting thoughts, but I'm even more unsure if people should take artists seriously, because 9/10 times, we ourselves don't know what we're doing. It's a hard thing to deal with, but maybe we're too pretentious. I mean, what gives us the right to say anything. It's as if we're part of this little club and that no-one really cares to tell us anything, as if they're afraid of our feelings. Ugh.
One of my co-workers just showed me a picture of an art gallery where, hanging on the wall, were simply pictures of anuses, some clean, most not. Is this art? Am I just growing up? Growing old?
Watched American Psycho again, this time paying attention. I don't think Ellis was trying to do much more than make fun of yuppies, which, of course, is not a bad thing. I found the film most disturbing, though not nearly as much as the book, when there was no noticable transition between the sensous sex scenes and the violent ones, because I still had that lingering feeling of beauty, love, etc.
Did a bit of drug research on-line, mostly about e and LSD and a little DXM. Interesting stuff. I was kind of prompted to do this by two things: the bottle of generic robotussin my mom gave me, and my story, in which there are a lot of drug induced scenes. I'm unsure if actual real life experiments would be a good idea, esp. given my recent depression.
I'm looking for some calming music. Ate some Chinese Food, Fortune Cookie Says:
Someone from your past has returned to steal your heart.
You are never bitter, deceptive, or petty.
Behold the power of the cookie. Maybe they're just getting lucky lately.