| [ |
music |
| |
Mt. Eerie- Stone's Ode |
] |
Phew, is the only word I can muster right now. These past three weeks have been a whirlwind of emotions, turbulence, exultation, and peanuts on airplanes. When did airlines start offering free peanuts on flights anyway? It seems very 1980. Airplanes, airtrains, BART, and automobiles. Wheels, electric, and gas keeping the world moving. Never stationary, a fixed motion of wheels turning, conversations going, thoughts cycling, and an array of feelings swamped in my heart. My little cousin drawing me a picture of Lady Gaga before I leave Arizona and Ralph’s British impatience when the Escalade won’t start or the wait staff has no idea what beer is on tap. Best friends are in the same city as me: San Francisco. We fly into SFO together, get lunch in the Mission, watch some pet adoption advertisements on the television and I never see him again. I never made it to the Phoenix police department with the paperwork I brought from New York. My mother will forever be M.I.A. Over wine and classical music from the television’s speakers, I listen to stories about criminal justice classes, while they butter up baguettes and spread foie gras. It smells like cat food but his jeans are dark blue and his Lacoste shirts fits well. Falling for a boy who barely even knows me, who is preparing for law school in Tucson. Share a love of Dexter. I’m at a coffee house right now and there is a boy who is seemingly beautiful, sitting on a couch drinking a bottle of Jones soda. The soda with the black and white photography on its label. It looks like he is reading Greek philosophy. His hair is dark and he keeps running his fingers through it as if Plato’s words are not making sense to him at 8:43pm on a Sunday night when a new episode of True Blood starts soon. I sat on a memorial bench for Kurt Cobain in Seattle. The bench was right next to the house he used to live in with Courtney Love. I think it was the house he committed suicide in. Though, I think it was the garage or shed or greenhouse, what was it? where he forfeited.
Courtney had the dwelling demolished. But we have this bench to remember grunge. To remember Kurt and all his brilliant melodies and creepy lyrics. It is in a beautiful area of Seattle, right near Lake Washington. Jed brought us there. But the house looked just like the house in Gus Van Sant’s Last Days. A severely underrated film, a film that was much better than Milk, a film that made me feel more about a character than a cinematic take on a politician. Perhaps biopics are not for me. The sound of soda cans opening in the small cabin of an airplane while you’re trying to sleep and the smell of burning grass in the suburbs of Seattle when fireworks go wrong. Grand opening flags and and shirtless boys walking down the street. A hippie riding a bike knocking down orange cones with his feet. Rose gardens in Portland and closed cafes. Reminiscing with music from back in the early 2000s while Phil is asleep in the backseat and Matt is immersed in the text on his iPhone. If only I could read in a moving car...My recent playlist held up through all four cities. Phoenix, San Francisco, Seattle, and Portland. Passion Pit, Japandroids, Lady Gaga, The Gossip, LMFAO, Iron & Wine, Carina Round, and Katy Perry remixes. The week before I left on my epic adventure I dog-sitted Penelope in Gabrielle’s apartment. I called into work every night and sat and stared into the screen of my laptop. I watched infomercials as the pangs of existence pulled me to the floor; I sobbed without the sobs because depression doesn’t work its usual symptoms with me. I shrug, struggle, and fight the upchuck of deadening desires and wild vices. There is no shoulder to fall asleep on or pull to the side on. Instead I am issued three tickets from a Nassau County police officer. Just another reason to relapse into another emotional decline. But at least this time there are visible causes. But this existential black void I have been drowning in since graduating from college is very dark and I am doing all I can to distract myself and avoid it. I went to see Jennifer Lynch’s Surveillance at Cinema Village. It might be one of the best films of the year. But I’m going to a screening of (500) Days of Summer tomorrow so we will have to see if it holds up. Zooey singing The Smiths in an elevator...my BEST FRIEND got married on Friday. At her Lutheran church she walked down the aisle and there was Tony waiting for her. The same Lutheran church we went to vacation bible school during a week in July, spitting grapes at each other in the gym area. It was where we learned that "Father Abraham" song. The priest/pastor dropped the wedding rings during the ceremony and it made the ritualistic, mundane ceremony actually memorable and distinct. It took them a solid ten minutes to find the wedding bands. Nervous laughter filled the church with too many wooden beams exposed. I still can’t stop listening to Ani DiFranco’s “Not a Pretty Girl” and Gillian looked beautiful in her dress. She was going through the motions of a being a human being, but she was aware of it all. She could see right through the mannerisms and typical salutations that are expected of her. It was amazing to see the irony behind her eyes. Looking like a self-proclaimed mushroom while dancing on the dance floor. The Toast happens and I tried to imagine myself up there with a glass of champagne and a microphone reading my speech but just couldn’t see it going well. I already declined the offer to do so just the night before because I can't speak to too many pairs of eyes. But her cousin was able to pull it off with charm and some good lines. But I must say, my speech was kind of epic. But it will stay tucked in my back pocket for the rest of my life. I am not as willing or comfortable to be part of the machinery of everyday living. I am just too weird, too self-conscious. I wish I were a functioning human being. I just want things to slow down. It is already July and I have only been to the Atlantic Ocean once. Is ocean even capitalized in a sentence like that? I’m a failed English major. I have tickets to see Sunny Day Real Estate and it feels like high school again. A good memory of high school, on senior cut day and talking to Kristin Fracc about how amazing "Diary" is. I finally get to see one of the best bands in the world reunite on stage. Mixers at art galleries that mask as bars and talk to my sister drunkenly on the phone on the sidewalk in Seattle. I tell her that I love her but she doesn’t always listen. To be honest I don't think she ever genuinely listens. When she reads, she adds words that are not there, I can only imagine her listening skills are just as selective.I meet J and C one evening. And J impersonates an infomercial. It’s brilliant. Blake is out to dinner at Oddfellows just a few tables away and barely waves to us. Our waiter is awkward and I can’t hear one word he says. It's almost as annoying as his mustache. We get ice cream around the corner. This time I don’t order the honey and lavender and we walk to Vivace and this is when I realize they don’t brew drip coffee, so I get an americano instead. We see Tetro at my favorite theater in Seattle....Harvard Exit Theatre. It’s old and rickety, but beautiful and charming. Vincent Gallo is beautiful. Paul was wearing a lavender dress shirt under his suit jacket. I love how Gabrielle and Paul feud in the car. It’s a charming conversation. I play covers of 90s songs on the way to the reception. I’m told I look like a young George Harrision dressed up. I was also told I look like Hitler and a CIA agent from the 1950s. But here I am, making a poor attempt at documenting, a poor attempt at documenting the last three or four weeks. But life won’t stop rushing through the days and nights. I can’t even read a novel without a distraction or obligation pulling me away. I anticipated this summer for so long and here I am sleeping through a beautiful sunny Sunday because I was running through the streets of Brooklyn in thunderstorms last night. But the raindrops were worth it. But I miss Brett’s bed in San Francisco but not the crowded streets in the Castro during Pride. I miss Bauhaus’ coffee even if they play the Top 40 during the day. Upstairs there is a nice view of the space needle. I miss my Aunt’s swimming pool in Arizona and gossiping with my aunts and talking with my grandmother. I just wish my heart wasn’t scattered across these cities and states. I’m wearing a Muse shirt I forgot I owned and the Nike’s I bought from a thrift store in San Francisco a few summers ago. I love summer nights and all I want to do is watch Greek on dvd. Michael Seth saw Brand New last night in Williamsburg. We’re supposed to see The Vernoicas in Philadelphia next weekend. I was sitting on the sidewalk on Fifth Avenue conversing with him on the phone the other night. I was eating a falafel. I miss Spike, teenage angst and the threat of the morning from a basement window.
Me with the Bride...taken with an iPhone:
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
showerscenes's Friends Page
intimidated
