my dad gave me his copy of tropic of cancer and i started reading that one instead of the copy that i'd bought and had been going through. a little bit of it has to do with the fact that it has a vintage feel to it, and seems to sound more the way it should without being aged and feeling a little classic, a little bit of it has to do with the dramatic level of credibility that i will no doubt gain amidst the microcentric circles of book clubs and esteemed undiscovered writers i surround myself with... uhhhhhhh but yeah the REAL reason is because i'm sort of hoping that i end up finding something that HE highlighted, or underlined or noted on in the margin. that's the kind of thing that i love to discover, even by accident. library books can be GOLDMINES for this sort of thing. someone thought that this was important or vital or interesting or noteworthy. go through books i've read and you'll find marks everywhere. in ways, i think it might mess with the real sense of things a little bit. it makes you read falsely ahead a bit, just out of distraction, stealing away any real chance you get to enjoy that line making its own footprint on you as it would without any sort of push in the right direction. i'm not very far into the book, but i've yet to see any pen hitting paper. waiting patiently.

ricky bailey called me today, and while i did fully intend to call him back, my phone died and i had his number on the phone and now it's way too late to call. but i'm going to give him a call tomorrow and work something out to hang with him, and make that happen, and hopefully make good on the only new year's revolution i've made thus far, and that is to not let trivial things (or NO things) come between me and people inviting me out to do things. i think i talked about it in the previous post.
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i don't know why i didn't post this yesterday. it was written sunday night.

it's odd the sort of hatred that i get when i read the wrong sort of thing. i'm sure i never had this before late last year (or i could just say a few months ago). murderous emotions, the kind to tear apart a person or choke someone down to the ground with one hand, letting blood rush to my face, getting all light headed and heavy with rage. i need to know someone's not testing me. i have trouble trusting anyone anymore or relying on anyone anymore, and i think this could be some reflection of myself in ways, but also a result of everything that i've seen this past year, both affecting myself and not affecting myself. things i've done and things that have happened to me. the points, i guess they equal out, though it still doesn't ease the impact of it all, or the reality of the kind of thing. i've tried and have found no direct relation to any one event. there's stress there, but only lacing some of the discourse. i don't know if it's that i've lost the reins on something that i've had under control for a long time, or if it's some new sort of beast or thirst that i have no idea how to quell. i guess i'll learn with The Change.

my mind doesn't have its freeform anymore.
i can't relax enough to let it go where it goes.
thinking back to the summer of 2007, i remember coming home on a daily or nightly basis, ready to listen to the same music again and again and allowing it to figure me out and weaving little things with it. long or short, sensical or not. they came from different places that had once been tied up. i, uh, i don't have that anymore. or i don't have the time or opportunity to revisit it.

i don't listen much anymore, and that has a lot to do with it.

to follow up:
i didn't call ricky back today.
though i did get daryl a copy of the cd.
and still no notes from dad in the book before he was dad.

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http://jamesjean.com/ --> sketch --> 2008 mole a/b