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| do you remember the riots in göteborg?
i got two tickets to see him. two. one for me and the other to welcome someone back to america. nothing says 'welcome' like a sweedish crooner. a pop crooner. pop goes the crooner. did i listen to pop music because i was miserable, or was i miserable because i listened to pop music? did jens ever listen to pop music? god, he must have gotten it from somewhere. else it's just in his heart.
we'll see jens and move our hips. jetlagged hips. but this won't happen. it's already too good. it doesn't have to happen. the mystical march night air has already filled my lungs. my hand's already been held. my hips, shaken. you remember how they used to shake? in the mystical moist night air. how i'll hold your hand so proud.
do you want to come? you know it's already happened. it might not again. but it's happening now, again. so then maybe it will when it's supposed to. don't talk about it too much, you'll jinx it. think about the beautiful night it will happen in. how we'll eat dinner across the street and walk to the show from there. think about the t-shirt you'll get. you'll wear it so proud. and the drive back, maybe with the sun roof open if it's nice enough out. (is there even the slightest chance the night could breathe out anything else but spring?)
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| it's cold enough out for whiskey. isn't it always? if not, you gotta be the cold one. something to warm you and smooth you.
speaking of smooth, broken social scene. backyards.
speaking of smooth,
he's james brown and he may be a hero of mine. he always makes me wanna shake mine at work when he starts his groove. a sort of working class hero. diane arbus shot this one. 1966, backstage at the apollo.
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this is for me, and my mind has been empty. i've got lots to do, but nothing needs to get done. that's the real test, isn't it?
it is strange how home usually feels like yesterday, seldom today, and never tomorrow. that's how it feels today, at least.
when i had a honda (i still do), i never looked forward to working on it. now that i have a mercedes, all i want to do is work on it.
in a year, this'll feel like home, won't it? in two, it'll feel like a dream. even the bad parts. but i just want to think about my dreams. it's a sad condition, but i'm happy with it.
and i think i only learn out of habit.
things i've been working on:
beer
cars
jalapenos
staying as close to one person as i can
come up to fayetteville. you'll be welcomed.
and good evening.
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| the hookah is tasty. i wonder if this could-be sore throat has anything to do with it. austin, texas. dc is a texan and i am an arkansawyer. and it rains a lot. like someone spilled a beer. i feel that way to. that ground might be too soft for me to use a jack to let me change my oil. i guess i'll have to give it a try. the old college try. willie nelson's peach cobbler ice cream is the best! n and l's new house is a sweet retreat! e, she likes me! industry! industry! maybe some tea, maybe a book, maybe a changing of the oil, maybe a drive to dallas, maybe a drive to fayetteville. ah, home. | | |
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