jnthn

the journal below still applies and I'm really not done with it being the main thrust of my thoughts lately, but I'm in NYC and about to leave and having a blast so I thought I'd give an update:
Friday was insane. We were late, it rained. Just in time to get MMR on the stage basically. then wait. then be flustered for a while. then wait. then the show hit, saw friends, said hi to LeTigre again, though I didn't really have much to say since last time we did this. They're really nice, though. The show it, it was great from the get go. Outhud was intense. I rocked the lo-end pretty hard. The crowd got into it. People said it sounded awesome. Jeneane Garofalo in the dressing room. Who else? I really couldn't tell. Adrock? MikeD? Wow, someone tell the me of like 6 years ago this is what you were waiting for and be psyched. Afterparty @ Plaid. Once again, VIP feels like JAIL. But fun. Lot's of radio hiphop. Wandered around through we streets. Out of my head. Walking for no reason but to walk.
Worked on a dance track all days ystrdy. This time someone else was producing and I was the "artist". Man, it's a nice change to be the insecure weirdo rather than the answerman. Ok. Saw a psychedlic show @ Mighty Robot. At great food @ Bonita. Came home and crashed hard. Really hard. Dreams of the singer of Daisy Chainsaw, but current day and gucci'd out and more like someone not her at all. And some woman that looked like Erin. And then kissing and 3 way kissing. And weirdness and accents and I woke up. bye. =====================



clear horizon, yet in the peripherie things glide in and out of view. distractions, the substances have subsided, the legal kind seems to know its place and the other kind requires that which only now slips through my fingers like extravagant dust m.o.n.e.y. is the root of all evil. times have been tight all summer and to now, yet I still flash cash, like it's a hologram or something, I don't know from where it comes and where it goes, so long as I don't have to notice, so long as it stays to the sideline and the view looks like that one to the left of these words you are reading: open ended. I wonder about the desire to settle down. I wonder about the phrase "infantile" and whether wanderlust is a symptom or it's just full-on zodiacal madness, air-quarious, aries rises, mania, manic. want equal parts movement and stasis, love and loneliness, the contradictions abound and yet at the end of the day what do I want? I want whatever it is my way and that to be that. I want control and I want to be the paper airplane / lemming / flake aquarius I am and just float on. I realized it's not self-determination I seek but the ability to control my surroundings to such an extent that I can chameleon-out at will, but never have to be just me. dig? like I can make things happen, it's my job, I'm the fly on the wall, the guru, the therapist, the employee, the pilot and the deck-swabber and all that and yet the last thing I want is to be at sea with a destination. I just want to make the ocean happen, I want to make the ocean take me somewhere where I'm found and I don't have to find me. cause I think I found me a while ago, and all I can do to make it work is bend and prod the world to fit my dimensions and extensions and all that. at the end of the day I'm a pimp and a ho, a prude and a perve, an addict and a puritan, fullfilled and empty.

clearly I need meds.

but I know I like that you read this and say whatever you say you say you say and I like you whoever you really are and whomever you think you are and we should all make out someday, soft lips and dorkiness and necks and mouths and good stuff and then I'll fuck off or you can until next time. are you still reading? I wonder how much longer I'm going to stay here, on this page where I live. I wonder what the point is, of paying for your attention...here. That's pretty much what it is. I stop looking at the nakedness. it's like a nude beach, like 2 summers ago in Giens, FR with titties and everything out and about, djs, heinekin and all that...eventually the loveliest lovely (you are out there and you know who you are!!!) came out with a wrap and it was TO TAL LY erotic. I'm almost bored by the bodies, and I like the candids, I like the thumbnails with things cut off...I like the discourse, and the stilted nature of it all. I like the few of you who've revealed something real about yourselves, who seem like something more than people wandering by at a tatoo convention or modern primatives or whatever subcultural subdivisions are going on. I dunno. I'm just filling up space. I'm on a roll. I'm sober as a churchmouse and just writing for the sake of writing. writing cause I love to watch the characters come up and somehow make sense of this morass (look it up) in my head that falls into the LCD TFT whatever iBook screen lit up by fluorescent light that may explode my brain in conjunction w/microwaves from my phone. I write cause I think Snow will write me more poems, though she's fallen the fuck off and I miss it, I still imagine that tag you're it and here's another, but there are the few intrepid souls who've bothered to come back to this experiment and are still reading this (really there's no point, it's all a stream right now) who have really made the weirdness of my life totally fucking rad because you don't know me at all and through the stilted distance of this forum you've broken through and made some of this shit seem important. you know who you are. and even if you don't your name is probably to the right of this page, so figure it out. my life is totally fucking weird and intense and incomprehensible. I'm not a celebrity but I associate on a regular basis w/people who, to someone out there, are real "famous" fucks and you have to understand that IT'S WEIRD. This is my job. And I realized today I'm a fucking rotten personal assistant to myself. I suck. I suck big, fat, hairy fucking balls. I'm the boss, I'm the genius behind the operation, I'm the secretary, I'm that fuckup stoner in the mailroom, I'm the boss's son who gets a free ride, I'm fucking the boss, I take out the trash, and I wash the boss's ass, the maid's ass, the mailclerk's ass, the secretary's ass...and then I have to wash YOUR ass and make you sound nice for the kids. I love it and I'm terrified by it.

I don't want to write anymore right now. peace out I have to go DJ.