03/27/04 08:51 - ID#35198
I Must Clear My Name
I spelled Hunter S. Thompson's name wrong and I apologize for being an idiot.
God I feel better.
And Ajay, one of these days, if you could let me know how to download TAL shows, because as sad as you think it is to have 24 shows, I am incredibly envious and want to be like you. Thanks. I don't know how to do it because, well, see above about being an idiot.
I might or might not be at the Pink tonight. You'll recognize me as a stick-like person. That's a comlete metaphor.
What isn't . . .
rock on . . .
Permalink: I_Must_Clear_My_Name.html
Words: 167
Location: Buffalo, NY
03/27/04 03:53 - ID#35197
Radio Is a Sad Salvation
This, by the way, is because of Car Talk and This American Life, both on tomorrow on 88.7 (at various times, 10 and 4 I believe), or on the web. I can't be the only guy around here who really looks forward to these radio shows, right? There are others out there, right?
By the way, is any one a big fan of David Sedaris, David Foster Wallace, and/or Hunter S. Thomson? (there is a reason I ask, but like Hitchcock said, there's no suspense in a fired gun)
Though it be madness, there's method to it . . .
Permalink: Radio_Is_a_Sad_Salvation.html
Words: 128
Location: Buffalo, NY
03/26/04 12:45 - ID#35196
Tick, Tick, Boom
Could it be the desire to find a connection, knowing only that it has been done before?
Perhaps.
Could it be that there has to be a reason for something somewhere and quite possibly I'll find out tomorrow?
Perhaps.
Could it be seeing a sunset from the seat of a motorcycle listening to "Where the Streets Have No Name."
Perhaps.
Or it could be that for all the absurdity, all the times I mess up, lose it, lose someone, give up, stop working, stop giving chances, stop taking chances, start riding fast, stop going slow, stop sleeping, quit reading Thomas at the Pink, stop writing about my day, my year, my decisions, my, my, this person, that person, that one over there with her head in her hands, me over here, face in a notepad, on the cusp of something, figuring out what someone else knows, thinking about what you know, or I know, or what Woody Guthrie knew and tried to tell, what I know and am trying to tell, or trying to listen, trying to keep my mouth shut for once, or open my mouth for once, for being honest, for saying sorry, or thanks or let's have a drink, or let's live, now, here, not tomorrow, today, the moment is gone as soon as you think it, but the clock still goes on and the apathy is enviable, especially when you stand on the rocks at the marina on a hot August evening when the storm clouds frame the sun over the water, a raindrop hits my book and the next line reads "and the rain began to fall," and makes me think, yes, this is where I am at, that is why I'm here, and I will see that again, and I can show this, regardless if you see what I do, I can show you this, and you can say what time is it, and I can say, "God knows," this is all worth it.
Bob Dylan said the answer to everything can be found at the Grand Canyon at Sundown. I'm not sure because I haven't been, but I can go and I will, and I'll see what he saw. That is beauty. That you can, I can, and yet those who can't, never will. That is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know. Or in my own words, it's that simple.
Perhaps.
tick
thanks Rachel.
Permalink: Tick_Tick_Boom.html
Words: 417
Location: Buffalo, NY
03/25/04 03:32 - ID#35195
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
I probably hear that at least once a day from random people. Actually, one time I did get, "You look sad," from a girl at a bar, which made me laugh hysterically, because of course, I couldn't have been happier.
Sleep, in my eyes is overrated. But then again, my eyes are tired, so go figure. But here is my question: why are people so concerned about my sleeping habits? I know the gut reaction is, well they just simply care about you, but if that's the case, wouldn't it make more sense to work with someone on his lifestyle? I mean if a man is a Christian, do people, in all seriousness come up to him and say, you should really get some buddha in your life? Well sure, possibly, but the point is that I like staying up at night, so why is it that people who sleep a lot, need to force their habits upon me? I don't cal my friends up in the middle of the night and say, "GOD, you are missing SO much. You should wake up."
No, of course I don't. I do have an answer to why I stay up, writing the night away on existentially absurd Camus induced plays and chapters of a book about a misguided elf. Actually Dylan Thomas has the answer. He just says it so much better than I ever will. I'm no poet, I know it.
In my craft or sullen art
Exercised in the still night
When only the moon rages
And the lovers lie abed
With all their griefs in their arms
I labour by singing light
Not for ambition or bread
Or the strut and trade of charms
On the ivory stages
But for the common wages
Of their most secret heart.
Not for the proud man apart
From the raging moon I write
On these spindrift pages
Nor for the towering dead
With their nightingales and psalms
But for the lovers, their arms
Round the griefs of the ages,
Who pay no praise or wages
Nor heed my craft or art.
yeah, take THAT.
Incidentially, has any seen the movie Chelsea Walls?
eh . . . y'all are probably sleeping. I suppose it is that time of the month.
Permalink: Do_Not_Go_Gentle_Into_That_Good_Night.html
Words: 377
Location: Buffalo, NY
03/24/04 02:25 - ID#35194
Playwrighting Rants
I can't talk long for I have to finish a play tonight. The problem is that mine eyes are bigger than my stomach in the completely metaphorical sense. I want to make a statement about the state of humanity when all it really comes down to is a story about a man sitting on a park bench who is apparently about to get shot if he moves, and a man who wants him out of the seat because of a woman he is meeting there, who he's never seen before. It's a classic story . . . maybe. What will happen? Will the man get shot because he's going to move? Is he simply nuts? If he does get shot, what does that say about my theories that you are in total control of your own destiny? If he gets shot, that means that destiny will always override any idea of free will that you have. If he gets shot, it's a tragedy. It's also very accurate. In a way, if you never want to leave because if you do, you think that you might get shot, chances are, one day, someone will shoot you.
Perhaps it's all perspective. We are never victims, but everyone acts that way. Are you trapped? If you think you are, you probably are. If you don't think you are, get up and walk around. Freedom is a beautiful thing if only we could accept the absurdity of it.
Permalink: Playwrighting_Rants.html
Words: 251
Location: Buffalo, NY
03/24/04 02:13 - ID#35193
Laptop Whiteness?
Permalink: Laptop_Whiteness_.html
Words: 29
Location: Buffalo, NY
03/23/04 12:29 - ID#35192
I See
Now if you are a Christian, as am I (well okay, I think Jesus was the first socialist badass, therefore Christian? sure why not), you'd get excited about the eternal dive, or rather the eternal drive, no wait, the eternal . . . ride? Maybe. Let's go with that. Basically, it's not a bad thing.
The point is this, my elmwood strippers, I have just gotten glasses for the first time in my life. My body is decaying, but the beauty here is that when I want to go to Burger King instead of McDonalds, for a shake if you will, I can now read the signs clearly before I pull into Wendys. Thanks to my poor eyesight, I always have to settle for a damn frosty . . . but no more my friends. They can take that spoon and shove it.
And have you seen these billboard things? They actually have words on them! It's really sweet. You know the one's with those two guys with their heads popping up? Well apparently (it says, as I've just found out) they're lawyers! And they represent injured people in Buffalo!
Who knew?
Permalink: I_See.html
Words: 192
Location: Buffalo, NY
03/21/04 10:30 - ID#35191
But really . . . why stickboy?
Well okay, I'm here to sastify, as Clarence Carter says. This (below) is why. (disclaimer: the "stick it" is merely a play on words and in no way represents the thoughts and feelings of said journal writer in regards to his comrads. It's suposed to be funny in a dry sort of way.)
Well that clears it up, doesn't it?
As you were.
(incidentally, the weird looking guy to the right is my rendition of Puck, or Robin Goodfellow.)
Permalink: But_really_why_stickboy_.html
Words: 159
Location: Buffalo, NY
03/21/04 11:07 - ID#35190
Protest review by the Times
"Even with the rallies planned well in advance, at least one protester got a little lost.
"In Washington, one person found out too late that there would be no protest in that city. A woman in a baseball cap and sunglasses stood in front of the White House with a sign reading, "U.S. Out. U.N. In."
"It's always nice to do a protest with other people," said the woman, Linda Wilscam, 43, of Vernon, Conn. "It feels lonely today, to be honest."
Permalink: Protest_review_by_the_Times.html
Words: 169
Location: Buffalo, NY
03/21/04 02:41 - ID#35189
In My Craft or Sullen Art
That's love. Or rather that's finding a connection with someone. My version would be "Not that I'm alone, but that I wont find someone who gets what I am about, has shaken me." I'm not in a hurry or anything, and actually that's part of my problem. I hate to quote Bukowski, but like he said, "No one who ever wrote worth a damn ever wrote in peace." Or more appropriately, Flannery o'Connor, when her mother put nice curtains up in her writing room while she was gone one weekend, making the place beautiful, said, "Mother get rid of those curtains lest you ruin my prose!" I'm doomed to melancholy because there's so much more good material to write about.
I love being by myself (another part of the problem), but damn, you find someone who might be cool, and behold, the connection you have with each other is as strong as masking tape. I constantly find myself shaking my head, over hearing conversations at bars, and I don't know if it's envy or disgust. I'd love to talk about how someone looked sad yesterday in moment and then talk about a pimple on her forehead the next. I'm no deeper than the next person, but hanging around the next person, you could've fooled me.
So I'll resolve to find comfort in books until someone trips me up and makes me think. That would be great.
Nietzsche again: Danger in happiness. "Now everything redounds to my best, now I love every destiny - who feels like being my destiny?"
Permalink: In_My_Craft_or_Sullen_Art.html
Words: 281
Location: Buffalo, NY
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