2.4.07

yesterday, i spent the afternoon and evening preparing to have people over by cleaning my room and frantically attempting to get in touch with rob via telephone regarding his booze-purchasing. sometimes it's a wonder to me that people have cell-phones at all. people came over, and it was a good event, although i am a bit disappointed in myself for turning into a stressed-out and somewhat frantic host after realizing that i couldn't find my phone or my keys. it turns out that evan took them from me when i was sitting on the balcony, and put them in his pocket, then left with them.

i remember sitting once with a friend who was drunk off of whiskey. we were listening to bonnie prince billy. he said, “He’s just a fat balding man with a beard!” and he couldn't understand how such a man could sing songs that could move him to cry. days later, on the phone, he told me, “I want to just explode until I am nothing; Just pure sound.” and i thought it was something half-beautiful and half a cop-out.

i remember another time when i was sitting in a different friend's old house. he was showing me a sniper rifle that he'd bought in mexico. he pointed it out his window towards the parking lot, and told me to look through the scope. "i could shoot that motherfucker in coldstone and he wouldn't even see it coming," he said. what i can't explain well to you is that he said it like a child and not like a killer.

it's funny go to back and look at the things that i've written in the past. i lost so much writing. hundreds of pages. they now exist in a remote and imaginary trashcan somewhere in the world of technology, and will never be retrieved or read by any organic being. i can only hope that the act of creating them somehow aided in my growth as a person or served as a foundation for the things that i now write on, or the topics that i now think about. i wrote this last fall on a night during which i could not sleep. it's a love note.

You are the high-pitched voice inside a balloon
That is only let out in a quick rush of air
And that causes the head to become heavy.
You are not the voice when it is let out;
But when it is still silent, within a red sphere,
And waiting. You are the waiting.

here's a clip from an old black and white silent film called "the heart of the world":


school puts its heart into me, but i can't seem to put my heart into it as much as i wish i would. i'm fully willing to put my heart into the world. or to put myself into the world's heart. perhaps it is time to start digging a little bit more.