Six Feet Under

What the eff?

Although I dumped an ex from a sickbed, effectively. That part made me all nuts.

In all 'art' even the stupidest - People see what they want to see.

Even fucking television.

And I repeat - what the eff?

Although I don't really believe it. And if I do, then...suck-o.

Kind of a spoiler, no?

Well, watch the rerun anyway, it ain't my fault if you haven't.

Dreams

Morning dreams are the weirdest

The first dream was that I was about to make love to a gorgeous, dark-haired vaguely-familiar-looking (but I don't know who she was) woman (For some reason, I knew how to do this). Literally, right about to do it. But we were in my grandmother's apartment, downstairs. And then the dream ended, or shifted, or I woke up; I don't recall. Anyway, it never happened.

The second was a bright sunny day in the city; it may have been the meatpacking district around Gansevoort. I saw a good friend, who I'd been expecting for ages, off in the distance, at a bus stop. I couldn't reach him; I was walking quickly up the street, but my path was blocked, by well-meaning but chatty improvisors. I tried waving; I think he saw me but I couldn't be sure, and I needed to get to him. I remember lots of sunlight and shade and sunglasses, we both wore sunglasses. Then, I woke up.

Back...kinda

Well, I've got my messed-up website up.

And I've still got my messed-up life.

Huzzah!

Like the tapirs?

More meaningless crap.

Today I got Digital Cable. If my eyes don't deceive me, I have a channel that plays Nothing but Football (what the rest of the world calls Football, not what we Americans call Football.)

Whooooo!

I've also got eight zillion music video channels. Damn. The remote is bigger than a vibrator.

Ewwwww!

I am going to buy (well, pick out and have her dad reimburse) my little cousin a new flute for her elementary-school graduation present. I get to try new instruments out and get the kid a nice one! I am very excited!

Awwwww!

We'll write a comic about it.

Last night at an ungodly hour I was watching "American Splendor" which always, for some reason, makes me choke up a bit.

Do you ever find weird, eccentric things romantic?

And another thing....

I will teach myself how to build a website from scratch with a blog via Wordpress and a calendar if it fucking kills me.

Which it might.

which is why I only start this projects at five bloody AM.

Fuck a duck, I'm insane!

And another thing....An Open Letter to "D"

You know what? I don't need to keep this up here. I've said my piece and I've taken it away. Lost in the sands of time.

But thank you for causing me to re-examine the purpose and wisdom of keeping this journal, and the nature of the material that goes into it. For better or worse, things are going to change. I am a bit sorry and somewhat sad by all of this. But wiser, as well.

Best regards,
Michelle

The Comment that Makes me not want to Post Anymore

"To those I admire In this great big statistically-(no offense) unlikely divine hell, what are the odds, I mean, they must be astronomical, to say the least, of logging into her blog? And yet, (a figure of time) there it was, on the very big www,… she as brave and blunt as my Adrienne and I felt like that Alice, oversized and plodding, trying to squeeze through a small door never meant for my huge, greedy appetite. Like a bulimic in a bakery, wolfing down a bottomless cake, (hearing that voice of J. Alfred running endless, cynical, drunken commentary on everything I do.) And right there, in plain text, she was outing herself. And me in my grey box, confessing metaphors to her like I had broken some techno-modern commandment…(booming voice) thou shalt not read the intimate details of thy ex’s ex’s blog.)Like stepping foot in Xanadu, or eating a peach, or like having sex with your mother Ginsburg would say… not meant for my eyes (forgive me). But why not my eyes? Whose then?How could I resist the all too intimate references to his oh-so bigger-than-life need for obliqueness in a dismal world of DNA repetition? A cat named HomeboyA preference for Wagner (very Freudian)A predilection for betraying highly intellectual, somewhat rubenesque, mildy-sardonic, bluntly comedic, overly-sensitive, somewhat histrionic, (he never forgave me either), well, you get the point. Indulging my pain at her expense or my expense and her pain…E=mc2. (My tendency to disassociate not to be mistaken for indifference). And I wondered if she would be insulted (or could forgive me) for the implication of there being an “us” now - being in that sacred club of self-appointed martyrs whom he had the pleasure of spiritually bankrupting. (Did I ever forgive him?). Some ill-defined chosen-people club of gullible romanticists with concentrated fantasies of being in love. (verb or noun, it’s just like those evasive little electron-buggers). (Eliot knows, I don’t always carry around this much baggage.)And it wasn’t the subconscious attraction to narcissistic father-figures, or the autonomic addiction to over stimulating under-achieving synaptical-firings, or the avoidance of intimacy through a vengeful cloaking-device of food, although God knows I tried,But rather, those obscure, seemingly-insignificant, idiosyncractic synchronicities that bonded me to her in a way I had never before felt so close to anyone else; These things cannot be measured: (so said Jung)(Plagiarism as a form of honor) Poetry, food, Joplin, Oz, Homicide, the repetition of sex, words, quantum laws, cheese. I love cheese for Christ’s sake. Who would have thought that cheese could be such a binding factor? (the metaphors are getting silly now). (And there’s something about sex that is always funny). And maybe in time, (time as a metaphor) she could come to a place, where the need to feel loved again exceeded the need to be damaged. (my therapist said blaming myself is power). To be hurt and cheated on and betrayed and lied to in the exact same way is what Adrienne would call repetition as a form of death. (My father’s gift as well). like the hot house figs or the urn that holds the ashes or the sign on the bus…just minor props… just an understudy…(she throws off her apron and quits). And I forgave myself almost immediately for being jealous that your poetry was better than mine. But I could have predicted that with a little quantum theory and a bottle of Red Clarinet."

Not, lazy just insightful. And busy.

Writing into more personal, creative outlets, I'd like to think. And tired, and still kind of ill. And busy as hell.

Having creative breakouts and breakthroughs. And terribly busy. Did I say that?

I dedicate this song to the-

Well I hope that I don't fall in love with you
'Cause falling in love just makes me blue,
Well the music plays and you display your heart for me to see,
I had a beer and now I hear you calling out for me
And I hope that I don't fall in love with you.
Well the room is crowded, there's people everywhere
And I wonder, should I offer you a chair?
Well if you sit down with this old clown, take that frown and break it,
Before the evening's gone away, I think that we could make it,
And I hope that I don't fall in love with you.
I can see that you are lonesome just like me, and it being late,
You'd like some some company,
Well I've had two, I look at you, and you look back at me,
The guy you're with has up and split, the chair next to you's free,
And I hope that you don't fall in love with me.
And I hope that you don't fall in love with me.
Now it's closing time, the music's fading out
Last call for drinks, I'll have another stout.
Turn around to look at you, you're nowhere to be found,
I search the place for your lost face, guess I'll have another round
And I think that I just fell in love with you.

- Tom Waits, I Hope that I Don't Fall in Love with You

lazy, perhaps (aka "shut up you, i'm in a bit of a holding pattern here..."

Bye Bye Love - Simon & Garfunkel (by way of the Everly Brothers)

Bye bye love
Bye bye happiness
Hello loneliness
I think I'm-a gonna cry-y
Bye bye love, bye bye sweet caress
Hello emptiness
I feel like I could di-ie
Bye bye my love goodby-eye

There goes my baby with-a someone new
She sure looks happy, I sure am blue
She was my baby till he stepped in
Goodbye to romance that might have been

Bye bye love
Bye bye happiness
Hello loneliness
I think I'm-a gonna cry-y
Bye bye love, bye bye sweet caress
Hello emptiness
I feel like I could di-ie
Bye bye my love goodby-eye

I'm-a through with romance
I'm a-through with love
I'm through with a-countin' the stars above
And here's the reason that I'm so free
My lovin' baby is through with me

Bye bye love
Bye bye happiness
Hello loneliness
I think I'm-a gonna cry-y
Bye bye love, bye bye sweet caress
Hello emptiness
I feel like I could di-ie
Bye bye my love goodby-eye

Bye bye my love goodby-eye
Bye bye my love goodby-eye

****

Ok I wasn't gonna write...holding pattern and all. But this makes me think of (fucking improvisor in me) "All that Jazz," the autobiopic of Bob Fosse (damn, what an insecure egomaniac, and certainly my one-true-love-who-died-too-soon, if the movie is that true.)

This is the song at the end that culminates the production number of his life.

And he's watching the dancing get bigger and bigger. And Ben Vereen sing louder and dance harder.

And he's more and more ecstatic at the production, and slowly, yes almost imperceptibly, more disconnected, horrified and sad. Just look at his face.

Pathetic, and alone.

God, I loved that movie.

I wish I'd known the man.

What a self-destructive fiendish genius, Joe Gideon. Wonderful. Terrible. And what genius acting Roy Scheider did in that movie. With nary a word.

It's showtime.

*****

PS - Don't listen to "Bridge over Troubled Waters" at 245 AM alone.

Behind the musical curve, yes...but this struck me the other day so to speak

"Take me out tonight" - The Smiths

Take me out tonight
Where there's music and there's people
And they're young and alive
Driving in your car
I never never want to go home
Because I haven't got one
Anymore
Take me out tonight
Because I want to see people and I
Want to see life
Driving in your car
Oh, please don't drop me home
Because it's not my home, it's their
Home, and I'm welcome no more

And if a double-decker bus
Crashes into us
To die by your side
Is such a heavenly way to die
And if a ten-ton truck
Kills the both of us
To die by your side
Well, the pleasure - the privilege is mine

Take me out tonight
Take me anywhere, I don't care
I don't care, I don't care
And in the darkened underpass
I thought Oh God, my chance has come at last
(But then a strange fear gripped me and I
Just couldn't ask)

Take me out tonight
Oh, take me anywhere, I don't care
I don't care, I don't care
Driving in your car
I never never want to go home
Because I haven't got one, da ...
Oh, I haven't got one

And if a double-decker bus
Crashes into us
To die by your side
Is such a heavenly way to die
And if a ten-ton truck
Kills the both of us
To die by your side
Well, the pleasure - the privilege is mine

Oh, There Is A Light And It Never Goes Out
There Is A Light And It Never Goes Out
There Is A Light And It Never Goes Out
There Is A Light And It Never Goes Out
There Is A Light And It Never Goes Out
There Is A Light And It Never Goes Out
There Is A Light And It Never Goes Out
There Is A Light And It Never Goes Out
There Is A Light And It Never Goes Out


http://shoplifters.morrissey-solo.com/lyrics.html

The nexus

How small is this fucking world?

Pretty fucking small.

Hi.

Don't tell, okay?

Thanks.

Alcohol, tool, devil.

Yep. hungover like a college student. Not like a grownup who knows that girly drinks are bad for her and knows never to mix. Literally twitching all day, sipping warm bottled water. I lost ten pounds this week, and I'm sure it's because I'm wrung out like a sponge.

I managed to push down soup (3 points) and a bagel (8 points) and a banana is forthcoming (2 points).

Twitching. It's pretty harsh. HARSH. Longform improvised tragedy. Oh yeah.

I am wrung out, strung out. Har.

There are people that I miss. Or do I?

I haven't done a respectable lick of work, and I surely need to. Seriously.

I did, however, make a shrink appointment. That's gotta count for something. And I've got to confirm the dentist. Fix me up from the head down. Ha!

I'm running database searches, and IMing a lovely friend about lingerie I've lost. Har!

Har. Har, indeed. And writing in here.

Multi-distracting.

As soon as this "cold" clears up, I'm back to the gym. I want my swimmer's legs back, damnnit!

more about the other side of the bed

Six pillows
One small stuffed puppy
An extra comforter that needs a new cover
Yes, some laundry

Night.

what the living fuck? and should i get tickets?

So in my i-cant-sleep-even-on-fucking-codeine lyrics search, I googled "Some Girls are Bigger than Others" by the Smiths. And found to my consternation/amusement is that it's a frickin musical in London. Sure, this phenomenon isn't new (Jacques Brel was pretty damn good, at least the songs were) but fucking Mamma Mia Moving Out...motherfucking hell.

I haven't investigated this yet. It's going up in July.

Anyhoo, way to buzz kill.
And I still can't sleep.
Just when I'd spent a nice evening listening to the fucking Smiths.

"Some Girls are Bigger than Others"

From the ice-age to the dole-age
There is but one concern
I have just discovered :

Some girls are bigger than others
Some girls are bigger than others
Some girl’s mothers are bigger than
Other girl’s mothers

Some girls are bigger than others
Some girls are bigger than others
Some girl’s mothers are bigger than
Other girl’s mothers

As anthony said to cleopatra
As he opened a crate of ale :

Oh, I say :
Some girls are bigger than others
Some girls are bigger than others
Some girl’s mothers are bigger than
Other girl’s mothers

Some girls are bigger than others
Some girls are bigger than others
Some girl’s mothers are bigger than
Other girl’s mothers

Send me the pillow ...
The one that you dream on ...
Send me the pillow ...
The one that you dream on ...
And I’ll send you mine

I really really can't deal

I have fucked up numerous things today. Seriously, on a professional level, that I need to fix.

I will fix them. I am sickish and tired, which is fast becoming my normal state, if I am not alcohol-numbed or bedded-down somehow, despite my best attempts to nutrify and hydrate.

I have to stop, something, somehow.

Why I am blogging all this is a freaking mystery, to me anyway.

And there are people on my mind. Not ones you'd expect, mind you. Not ones I'd expect. I'm surprised at the ones that are, and the ones that aren't, if that makes sense (because realizing they aren't sort of puts them into one's mind, doesn't it?)

Perhaps it's time to go home. Yes, maybe it is.

It's cold in here. I'm achy sore. My bed needs to be made, at any rate.

Part of me wants the pile of clothes replaced by a human. Part of me does not. Part of that part of me feels like I should come with a warning-label tattoed (albeit temporarily) across my forehead. Black-box, for sure. Adverse events likely. Do not combine with alcohol or other drugs.

I wonder who's stumbled across this blog.

Boy am I the chatterbox today.

Do all single/newish single people substitute a pile of clothes on the bed for where the other person used to sleep?

I really can't deal

I want to stay home. I've attempted waking up about six times. Bah.

I hope no one reads this blog because it is not amusing.

I did have a fun and amusing conversation with Gary about boys. Age-gaps being what they are, I could be flirting with people young enough to be his kid. Or, considering his previous vocations, who are his kid. Shudder, shudder, shudder.

gutwrenching guitar

If you listen to "Arms of Mary" by Leo Kottke (Leo Live) and don't cry, or at least choke up, you have no heart.

(With thanks to Tony C for the musical matchmaking of this previous unknown-to-me artist. I leave it to you to download, buy, borrow or steal. Or just ask me.)

what a long week

karaoke was great
my concussion was not
the shows were great
my odd rash was not
my friends are great
self-promotion, not
lawyering, great and not
still one more day to go because i count the weekends

up and about at 919 on a sunday. i can't deal this early during the week.

i think i'll make pasta for breakfast. Hell, why not? I'm a grown up.

Make pasta, set priorities. Call my dad, spray Benadryl on my leg. Properly hydrate. Look up plane fares.

Should I stroll slowly across 4th street? Ha!

Booyah.