darker, as my love.

i wish my dad would write some book or journal about all of the grumblings he brings to the dinner table when he chooses to squash what it is we might be describing as things we enjoy or love. at least then it would have some value, and would be instantly relevant as soon as the reader opened the book instead of being the Monty Python 'God's Foot' that hurtles two dimensionally on our unsuspecting world. we're rarely met with screams or roars, just doused with negativity gas and ignited.

topics might include:
the Baltimore Ravens
any and all American presidents that are not JFK
Jim Carrey
the NHL not-Rangers
dogs
Mother & Brother


it wouldn't have to be a long book. even a page essay on each would do. there would be more topics as welll, though many chapters would be born in others. it might read like a manifesto.

if you needed it told to you:

Star Wars: Retold (by someone who hasn't seen it) from Joe Nicolosi on Vimeo.

waiting, walking, talking, ticking.

once i leave in a few minutes it's a one way road to do or don't. what'll more than likely happen is nothing. i couldn't even fire a stranger.

january, 2009.
most dense 11 days.

intersay.

i have so much going on behind the gory synth tonight.

1.
i ruined everything for absolutely nothing. i don't linger on it until i feel something about it. only then it's misery, and only then it's the only thing that matters at all. i don't think anyone really believes me when i say what i say about it. but it's true. she is. here's to futurewoe.

2.
so, what do i say when this whole ordeal is going on and how long do i wait until the scenario is faced head on. little time to breath it out or unpack and resettle. some ice ages would never end, given time. ohh it's not working out so well, is it. goddamn you, goddamn it, i want to know and i'll never know. am i wrong to bring it up? something needs to change, else there's no closure.

3.
where am i going to be living and who is it going to be with? so many / too many options.

4.
okay. if things end up going nowhere in the event that she comes home and we work this whole situation out and come to terms on everything and things are admitted and changed and amended to the point where if they went forward on a daily basis the way things should go in any healthy and appropriate relationship, how do i then eliminate the urges and desires to keep this activity in check? i think the best way to ask this (and then, more than likely, to answer this) is how does one cure a jealousy issue? my first response would be to say that you absolutely don't. it's something spoiled, an airtight fixture breached and its vacuum rendered irrelevant.

big tough guy, "emotional juggernaut".
i know i probably shouldn't drive tonight.
they're all out of town, anyway.

--

outside of all of these questions that i tried to filter out as i was floating around on the internet, i happened to find a handful of new bands that i currently believe, somehwere in the next two years, i will be telling you, "no, i don't think you understand" as i've been known to say when i love a band more than i can accurately describe to the best of my ability and you aren't having your eyes roll into the back of your head when you first hear it, looking at me as if you've had something largely important revealed to you.

thick paint, more texture than color.

so much
so
so
much
is happening right now, and is about to happen (or not happen) and it's not that i don't know what to do, because i do. at least, i know what i would matter-of-factly tell myself to do. it was such an easy thing to do,

to just wait

.

i think the next week (or month) will probably determine a few things, like how i allow myself to feel about myself, where i will be living and how, a certain level of self respect, and the ways that i continue to or no longer feel guilty about feeling.

it IS!
it's a crossroads!
been hearing about these for years, been plowing through them for years.
could be i have to not let it be this time.
the last three days or so have been spent surrounded by friends and me revealing facts that i've hid from them.

a sort of clarity and solitude is going to be lifted.
this is not a drill.

full well.

thinking about dying in a black hole?
the brochure.

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.
-
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.

--

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

ali, adios.

i don't know how long i have chosen to play this card or how long i will continue to play this card, though i am resolving in 2009 to make the solo night at home alone the very last solution. granted, it wasn't until 6:30 or 7:00 tonight that i realized that i didn't have to be here alone, but at that point, i'd already purchased my mini marathon, and was ready to indulge in a night alone. that, of course, is when the messages come. the answers to the questions asked days, and even weeks ago. i don't know when i started this, or why, but i think it must be years. with some longer than others. and while there is a definite option at this point to leave and make this the beginning of a sealing issue. unless there's something significant going on, or something i find myself doing that's more enthralling than anything else might be, i should more than likely accept and embrace the invites of other people to go out and be a part of their lives as much as i want to be a part of their lives. i really don't know what's wrong with me.

i've done it with most [if not all] of my best friends.
not just acquaintances.
and it's embarassing.

it's like getting over anything else. an addiction, or a habit. a way home. a relationship. it's going to take time, and i'm going to hate it at first, and i'm going to need help. but it's for the best. and even if it's better eighty percent of the time, it's still progress. and it should be easier come february, because i'll be entirely alone with no easy out here for the first time in a few months. and while most of the time, it's been me being alone that i've done it, another person here has been an extremely potent excuse. and that'll be done soon.

let's go.
happy new year.

a piano actor: who they get when they need him.

i thought about last year and this time of year, and things are different but i feel like it was yesterday. not in the gap of time way of speaking, in that it seems like i just lived a day, and here we are. more like nothing has changed all so much. everyone's scattered about and in some new sort of mode or stasis. but it's all the same. outside looking in.

i could be poor again before we know it. maybe i'll work it out. i've got my eyes peeled for some new kind of opportunity. nothing active. but things happen.

thought about how i have no goals, just desires.

-
this is already turning out different than i anticipated.
what i wanted to start with was:
"it's odd how my fingers missed the keys. i never knew it until they hit them."

it seems the devil's got a grip on me.

aloe.

more style and less put together.
more collarbone and clavicle.
more the ready to run, so i've learned.
oh, you don't want to be there. it's your love and fire, but not your steady stream,

and i'm still looking, too.

i saw him the other day and how he's not good enough for you. i wanted to make sure he said the right things to you, and never took you for granted, and could never see the end of you, that big unwinding. i don't think i approve of how he does and does not look at you. but i don't know what's best.

i lied to you one too many times.
i should have told her, "why, yes i do."

some storm happened and you weren't there.

shaking, i suppose.

some story of color,
a streetlamp orange green still ocean [no wave].
presence on the floor, had shoes tied.

"i'd take you anywhere, we've suffered enough."

and would you believe it? they cut us short! just where we ended they told us this is where you're going and this is where you're anyone. no, i don't know anyone here. so you moved on out of here. i'll have your bags packed when i'm ready, keeping all that doesn't remind me of you, and fits the most convenient dreams of you. o', teeth and toe.

you have some load of blankets,
shut out to the world.

1. CBC 2. Blood Chemistry; on like that.

what i did today was make copies and mail out said copies of a summer's worth of dreams. standing in front of the copy machine with phone in hand, i went down a list and tried to figure out who would want to read it, and who would read it because they knew me. i went with the people who would read it if they came across it and will build from there. inside are some of the funniest things i've read written in one liners all by accident, manifested entirely while sleeping. i just happened to record them. i take no credit.

so, what i will say at the moment is that i will, eventually, tell the whole story of what i've referred to in the last update. i do hate alluding to things, and being vague about them, but this is the sort of thing that had to be talked about. i was there. once i know the full in and full out i'll get it all down. most of it never seems real when i think about it. i've already started to write it out. and some of it is pathetic, and some of it is typical, but some of it is the kind of thing you cock your head at.

And...
1. Tranquilization
2. Sedation
3. Restraint
, or so they kept saying.

calamity.

last night everything got just a little bit crazier than the tuesday before last. i can't process what is or what isn't. i assume, going forward, that day by day will have to do.

i'm back online via a new computer.
photos hope to be born soon.

i finished transcribing my dreams from this past summer. it's about 18 pages (i think) and will be printed on tuesday. copies go out then, as well.

i'm glad to be back.

we think aout our

symptomatic.

Hm.

Me: "yo, you saw that george wallace is the new mr. Vegas?"
Him: "yeah, I think it's cause someone's dead."

Indeed, vegas has some of its best and worst moments. I've had a few odd run-ins, mostly because

Oh I stopped typing for a couple of hours so I forgot what I was trying to say. I apologize.

to become this less often.

.
pretty soon, i'm going to hurt until it stops
.

Violins.

I saw her only that once but I wanted to see her again. I thought a little about her, only once as well. Just how she looked and how I imagined her to be. Couldn't have been older than 19. It wasn't that. She could have been 30 or 300 it wouldn't have meant a thing. Her hair was too dark to be natural, some kind of crazy black which could have looked so dark only because of the severity of her pale skin. It seems like a canvas to me now. Blue eyes i think, or green, or grey. Something that made her entire eye stand out against her impossible dark hair, as it dangled, covering half of her face.

I don't think she smiled.
She was with a friend.

Her knees were extremely knuckular. They looked way too gnarled and swollen to be on this person I hadn't met yet. It was definitely her first time here. And why don't I just go over to her and ask her a question, or humanize myself.

I was talking to Jeff, hardly a friend in the way that you traditionally think of a friend. Just a person that's come in enough that you feel relief that they've come in as opposed to a stranger, because you can follow up on old conversations. He was looking too, but we were both casual about it. It's hard with a friend-non-friend to non-overaggressively illustrate attraction and/or interest to a female or male in or outside the nearby area. So we said nothing to each other. Kept talking shop. I was genuinely interested, in one portion of my conscious brain, about what he was talking about (which I later followed up on and did get actually excited about), but some other fraction of my attention center was modulating and spinning around her, the bichromatic girl of silence with the bogus knees.

When she left, I tried to wll her back. Not in some active way, with magick or telepathy or reverse psychology but with deep internal thought and hope.

Although she did come back, I'm not a believer in some deep seeded undercurrent of the mind in which we are all recipients of mental callings from odd creepy strangers that saw us in their place of business weeks before they saw us. No, I assume she just lived in the area and was filling out applications everywhere in her proximity. So I see this application sitting on a desk in the back office and her name is her name and suddenly she's more than this girl who could only be described as physical features and who I thought she was.

Who did I think she was? Well. Probably a really shy but confident young lady who'd never been told that her art was incredible because it was just too abstract for the average male or female of her age outside of her demographic to fully grasp. And she had never seen anything outside of the surrounding two hour radius so she was anxious to get out, but never had anyone share that dream who would actually do it. And she loved to text.

But as I'm looking at this application, I'm thinking there is no other way to handle this situation than to move forward with it. So I called her cell phone and hung up when it asked me to leave a voice mail. And when she called back in 3 hours, I said I'd try to find out about setting up an interview.

She said that the next day she'd be busy and she'd definitely be okay to come back on Monday at 1030. That's fine, but my last day was two days prior to that, and oh well and oh no. She'll never be human now.

(you must be powerful;
for you have a more human face,
sad as the universe;
I abhor you with all my being;
and i would rather,
from the beginning of the centuries,
have had a serpent coiled around
my neck than look on your eyes.)

one clip.

Not getting enough sleep has always had the same effect on me. The distinct feeling that I am always forgetting something, or not retaining knowledge. Writing memoirs on some seismic etch-a-sketch. things going away, more things coming in. Some slide show.

Unrelated: I'm not sure if I'm just sad, or starting to give up.

Go-Getter.

I think while tearing through a taped box, I felt a vein or blood vessel erupt. It wasn't painful, but internally wet. Something thin and skin-soluble slowly gave way. Warm gave way to warmer. Some small flood engulfed by body.

But I'm almost positive this would have left a mark. I'm probably just elaborating.
-
I finished reading a few books this week, since down time has been at a pretty soaring high while babysitting the store (see <a href="http://www.flickr.com/iamnoimpact">my flickr</a>).

Spook by Mary Roach was great. It was essentially 'science tackles the afterlife,' as stated in the subtitle, though it did have quite a bit more history than experiment. Or, history of experiments. Either way. I expected (my first mistake) more modern interface with the way the afterlife was perceived, but as it was it held up very well. The author did do a good amount of hands on stuyff, but most of the meat of the text was in going over how it was relevant that she carry out what it was she was carrying out as well as a pretty good recounting of the people and inventions that others had used to question the existence of a soul and to prove its presence. I emailed the author and she emailed back which is great as well. I never fully expect to hear back from the people I send words to, so when I do, it's always very exciting. My initial goal, at all times when sending "I-checked-out-yo'-stuff" correspondence is simply to let one human know that another human is listening. Crucial.

The Drunkard's Walk was a book that was meant to explore randomness and how it affected our daily lives. It completed its task. However, without any level of conversationalism or much human element. In an e-mail to carissa, I explained, "I thought I was on a train to humanity town, but ended up in robot city." This was a book which proved itself via probabiliy, statistics, and mathematical history. I should have expected as much from a man who had worked with Stephen Hawking on a book (A Briefer History of Time). It was enjoyable, but more like reading a text book or an essay than a standard read. While unexpected, still good. I actually used the phrase, 'all things eventually deviate towards the mean' yesterday to a customer. Zero social skills.

Today, I actually cracked, and finished Coma by Alex Garland as well. It was fine. A little amateurish, in that I think I could do better but maybe not. I'm not very good at gauging my own skill outside of my own perspective. I might have delusions of grandeur for all I know. But it was a quick read, and had some good imagery towards the end, though the ending itself was wet hot garbage. And come to think of it, too, the actual events of the story were kind of floppy too. I'm a bit of a fan of Alex Garland, but mostly in the way that I'm a fan of The Mars Volta. One of the things that they've put together really showed me this vast, limitless amount of potential, and while their subsequent works haven't floored me and haven't even entertained me as a whole, there are passages and tracks that have given me glimpses of the strength of their past work as well as promise for that taste which I grew fond of coming back at some point in time.
-
I'm currently working on this premise; trying to prove it:

If I can not send images via email then I can not send images to flickr
AS OPPOSED TO/RATHER THAN
If I can not send images to flickr then I can not send images via email.
-
Mike Knoll came in yesterday and got me thinking about checking out a couple of bands. Ride and Mogwai (specifically, their second album). I'll try that.
-