i've been unable to write anything lately - and i need to get off this habit of calling myself out in each dry spell where i can't find words cause the pressure just gets ~*too intense*~ - so i've stayed far, far from this thing... wait, actually, i lied, i wrote half of an update before reminding myself via said unpublished update that this was not a diary so my innermost personal musings and desires will remain just that. and the world rejoices again!! somewhere a seven year old asks RPattz to bite her and Amy Winehouse remains relevant mysteriously.
i am one uncle shorter today. three becomes two. weirdest death in the family to date...
now that i've got my flickr account back (obligatory admission of love to Vigil here.) and photos trickling in i can take the time to miss the other things i lost in the Great Whoops of '08. like my quote collection. jeezy creezy, i've been stumbling upon some great ones lately. they probably are not nearly as amazing as i make them to be in my mind, but the context of it all makes a quote... though these Bukowski ones are pretty fucking perfect on their own. yeaahaaa, that's right, i read a new book, suck on that.
actually, no really -- oh god the lawn men just infiltrated my back yard with their loud machines and sweat rags and i can no longer hear the sweet sounds of The Beatles singing their magic, make it stop dear christ -- anyways, there is an incredible sense of satisfaction lingering over me. because i read a book? yea. cause i read a damn book, listen, i hadn't read a new book in at LEAST eight months, i'm really thinking it was a year, i was just resorting to re-reading old favorites or whatever i had lying around that i had enjoyed making my way through before. and while the rules of attraction and the moon and sixpence may be good fun i was getting tired of it - so on my last trip out to katie's house i ambled in to her office and sat for a good 15 minutes in a slightly stoned daze just oogling her bookshelves. finally, with the help of the fine lady katie herself, a book was placed in my hands and i was practically bouncing in anticipation to read it. i used to be the most voracious of readers, that was always my forte in elementary and middle school... then along came high school and i went WHOOPS, FILMS R KEWL and waddled off the course of literacy to a downward spiral of stupid. i will be the first to admit i haven't read "The Classics", i can't recall much of the required reading from my four years at dreyfoos, and... well, a chunk of that was never actually read. though i zoomed through To Kill A Mockingbird and found myself all sorts of in love with it the first quarter of freshman year.
cept we weren't supposed to read it until the third quarter, by which at that time i had already tackled my second Easton Ellis novel and could not be disturbed with the teachings of a woman who told me Shakespeare was an alien.
anywho! the name Bukowski was always an alluring one - i know i've read a poem or too, and there's that Modest Mouse song i particularly enjoy - but i had never really delved into his stuff. all i knew is that he seemed more appealing than Thoreau or Tolstoy and while i have been trying to get my hands on The Bell Jar for quite some time now that still has not manifested and i suddenly had a whole new world to jump into. the novel's called Post Office and it's not only a surprisingly simple read but quick, too! just shy of 200 pages i managed to read about 150 of those pages last night in an hour or so. i'm not going to get into the plot or characters (even though they were as rich as any of the ones i've seen people put months into creating and some of them flitted through the story, only appearing a handful of times at the comedic expense of the main character, she wrote without a hint of envy although it sat heavy on her mind, thank you very much!) but i will say this much; HOLY FUCK YEA!!!
oh. i'm sorry. am i being redundant? did i already state that somewhere above? fuck you, deal with it. upon finishing books or movies i usually wind up feeling abandoned, i mope, i go back and reread passages while puffing on a cigarette and flipping pages ahead to cross reference my own favorite parts or make sure i understood what was happening properly - but this time i simply laughed aloud, shut the book and explained to MONICA my elation. and one would think, or at least, i would, with current matters at hand i would have leapt right into a bowl of emotional stew and rolled around in the depression i'm familiar with associating with endings, but nope! nada. none. just contentment and the grand desire to rush to katie's house and beg for another one. i really enjoy borrowing my friend's books more than going to the library - katie is like me in that she had bits underlined throughout the book, something they are not generally fond of at the library - and there is just something flattering about a friend letting you in on a little part of their life by lending a book or movie, or even cd. i always do make a genuine effort to take the upmost care of those things when someone does that, i know it is a bit of a travesty to me each time someone has failed to return anything i've leant them. i will forever rue the day i offered to loan Glamorama out...
now i'm back with my nose in Perks again... and you can sod off with your outright uplifting tales of hopes and dreams or accusations of a 21 year old reading this book. it must have been the end of sixth grade when i first read it and i became so frightfully addicted to it, reading it once a year just became a personal tradition i never really labeled. it's another simple read but such a fucking enjoyable one, and not as down or gloomy as some of my friends seem to make it. at least not to me. plus i identify with Charlie, we've all felt infinite, it has its own secret soundtrack and this is the third copy of the book i've had to buy, one was stolen and the other... i don't know, actually, i think someone has it, but already it is filled with highlighted streaks and underlined bits.
hm. jumping from the sardonic wit of Bukowski into the subdue honesty and innocence of Chbosky is kinda a mind fuck, actually. i would love to see Chinaski, the protagonist in Post Office, face Charlie, at home, respectfully, in The Perks of Being a Wallflower. and this is where i deem myself a poor version of a literary geek and flip open the books to find some good quotes and leave them here without proper identification, feel free to read Twilight in the mean time, apparently everyone else did;
"So now it's the parakeets! Are they molesting you, too?"
"Some kids look at me strange in the hallways because I don't decorate my locker, and I'm the one who beat up Sean and couldn't stop crying after he did it.
I guess I'm pretty emotional."
"THEY WONT HIRE ME BECAUSE THEY LOOK AT ME AND THEY SEE HOW INTELLIGENT I AM AND THEY THINK, WELL, AN INTELLIGENT MAN LIKE HIM WONT STAY WITH US, SO THERE'S NO USE IN HIRING HIM!" side note: this exchange between Chinaski and Janko in Post Office needs to take place in real time in my real life, deities and fate i'd appreciate you working on that.
"...but I really think that everyone should have watercolors, magnetic poetry, an a harmonica."
" 'Look,' I said, "it's part of my job, too. I have to do it. If I stay on that stool much longer I am going to leap up on top of those tin cases and start running around whistling Dixie from my asshole and Mammy's Little Children Love Shortnin' Bread through the frontal orifice.'
'All right, Chinaski, forget it.' "
"I would give someone a record so they could love the record, not so they would always know I gave it to them."
painful, right?
forget it.
it's not supposed to break sixty eight degrees today, and that is on the coastal areas. pretend this is eloquent prose. this is nice because i did all the applying i could do yesterday and today i wanted to try and
.not throw up
.do some more laundry
.organize the metal rack in my room that i've developed a hatred for/put up my hat rack
.inspire myself to make my room livable again
and so if the weather is cool then i can keep my window open, i can continually blast Rubber Soul and The White Album before noon (The Beatles are great chilly pre-noon music, then i need real thick guitar, like Jeff Beck but he's too spastic for my heart right now, which might just give out today.) and maybe fit in another cup of tea and a new color of nail polish. black is not fitting for fall winds like the ones we have been having, but it's fi--------
"I just wish god or my parents or Sam or my sister or someone would just tell me what's wrong with me. Just tell me how to be different in a way that makes sense."
whenever i listen to 'Blackbird' i never see one. there's gotta be a trick to this.
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