Thursday, March 13
flee from me, keepers of the gloom
(yeah, we've cycled around back to euphoria)
looking in the mirror
i can see my own shadow on my face
in the light from where the sun
is just touching the edge of the window
i'm not quite sure how that works
it's down now anyway
the sun i mean
it's unreal how much healthier
a room gets to feeling
with windows open
and voices drifting in
makes me feel like drifting out
right after this song
you can't resist her, she's in your bones
The second CD I ever bought is still one of the best I own. Whatever you think of Weezer's post-Pinkerton material (and if you dis Pinkerton, we're done talking), the Blue Album is still worthy of high volume with the windows open on a day as beautiful as this one.
Reading Dave Eggers' A Staggering Work of Heartbreaking Genius in the same two weeks as binging on countless e2 nodes, losing all semblance of regular sleep patterns, and stepping up the caffeine-alcohol-carbohydrate intake cycle all while alternating between restless boredom, crashing despair, and sagelike contemplative repose edging towards euphoria — this has done things to my prose.
Not good things. I can see that.
conversation is good, right?
V: Sex wax?
I: Yeah, that's what it's called. Sex Wax. It's like the brand name or something.
B: Not like... You know.
M: You know, like that Weezer song.
B and A, nearly simultaneously: Surf Wax America?
V: Oh yeah!
A: You could make little casts of your belly button.
B: Or nipple casts. Nipple casts would be cool.
S: Pull up a chair.
S: My you look feminine tonight.
J: Wow. Are you always this condescending?
S: Did you just call me "condescending"?
B: So you think I've got enough hair for dreads?
S: I dunno. Are you thinking about dreads?
B: I dunno. Maybe.
S: Take off your hat.
S: (distinctive laughter)
S: Ok, put your hat back on.
B (singing): It's... a... duck blur...
J: Yeah! That's it.