I'm tired, I'm cranky, I'm emotional, I'm a bleeding-machine. I'm in a HORRENDOUS mood. But not like upset. I'm actually happy I'm just in a horrendous mood. I should really go running. I really need money. Ugh, what to do? Lay here til 4, when Tony comes over, possibly even nap... Go for a run and play? See Tony and then get my highlights...? That's what I should do. All of that. But it's so hard to move.
I just got Brian's letter. Oh- and a fan letter from a guy Scotland of all places sent to my old band manager asking for an autographed picture with a self-addressed picture and big overseas stamp... random... Brian's letter makes me really, really cry. It's touching what he says, it makes me feel so good... I keep all his letters but I'm so disorganized I worry...
So, it's on, for tomorrow, no word from J about a new appointment time. I really kinda think... Well, I don't want to think anything. But I'm gonna have a shot before I go in there. No skittish Scarlet. I've definitely gotten a little bolder. A lot bolder. I just reread all my letters to him... I'm gonna excerpt the last one I sent last night, at 4 am or whenever... (the references are... rampant. But they're mostly to either that article he sent me yesterday or Eamonn and his homeless ass... haha)
Another apology here would be tacky- but I will promise- 1st time- that this is the last one avant dormir, and that it will be short.
So okay, a rumination, so okay you were trying to gently deflate some Disneyworld balloon castle I apparently seemed to be living in-- ok-- you're not a basement-dweller, then I'm not walking around in Northern Liberty covered in the debris of Barbie's dreamhouse after your B-29 bomber (gently) dropped the bomb and changed everything... but no it's cool a flashlight comes in real handy when you're homeless in Santa Monica and my Skipper doll glows like Chernobyl baby! Yup, plastic debris, hazmat, and a guitar, some mendable young Valley College minds... that's all ya need when yer homeless in Northern Liberty. Greatest time of my life. I idealize Utopia.
Okay, anyway-- like no, I don't believe in a right person for everyone or "lasting fulfillment," that's some real The Lion King soundtrack by Kenny G stuff... I don't believe in everyone or everything or forever or never, or the VPFC Explains It All, I mean no, you know, yes and no, half believe in, sometimes believe, hold as the only constant the constant ability to change (or to change from something that changes into something that never changes) I believe life is a sympathy we each compose individually according to our own personal sense of aesthetic, the major and minor chords, ff, ppp, allegro non troppo, the masterfade, atonal at times (but not like Michael's music) and here come the strings----- she likes Kenny G, he (still) only listens to smooth jazz, you listen to everything but mariachi music, and even to them if they're standing at your table, I mean, what are you gonna do, ask them to leave, no this is their job, and they've been doing for 75 years, so no you listen, you have your vino or cerveza or mojito and put a couple bucks in their sombrero when they're done with the song so they can leave por favor, gracias, gracias. But yes, no, yesno, what is that all about? Yesno. Ummmmm, ruminate, focus!!! No I believe in what I feel... and I don't regret... and... here it comes... I believe in the TRUTHS, those unassuming TRUTHS of my artists, my Flannery-O, my Ludwig-V, and James and Billie and David Foster Wallace-- (mentioned in the article! Wheeee!) and yeah... I dunno.... Team Science, Team Art wants to know... why do we always have to fight? I paint about mitosis, you theorize about Wallace, let's just make it work, huh? Hey remember Da Vinci? Remember that guy? Paintings and anatomy? And Giordano Bruno? Astronomy, astrology, angels and math? (I think they burned him.) Remember when Renaissance Man meant more than some douchebag who likes go fishing and do pottery and dress up in women's clothes when he's not selling people insurance on debts of companies they've never heard of?? Forget that guy! He's walking around in Northern Liberty somewhere, wearing a loincloth made of dollhair and burstbubble as a bathing cap, looking for his car.
I thought it was screamingly funny last night. Now I don't know. Ugh. Well he's received emails from even farther out of orbit from me before... but... before tomorrow... grrrrr. Nothing today. No. Way.
Ah its almost night already. I need to go for a run. ugh.