pb

ouch, my fingertips hurt. day 2 of learning guitar. only 837463669400 more to go before i rock.

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perfection.
















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took a walk down to the river about dusk this evening. there's this little patch of woods, all thick with vines and English ivy...with a small path which goes through it down to the edge of the water. i watched the moonrise, orange and full, through the summer-thick vines over the Potomac. it was a strange, tranquil and green few perfect moments in time. the fireflies have gone for the year, and i noticed several flocks of geese and ducks making their way due south, using the river as a guide. i walked a bit further to the quiet boradwalk and sat on a bench long enough to notice the color of the moon change from a deep orange to the milky white that sappy writers are always going on about.

after a bit, i hitched up my backpack, turned up the Type O Negative, and walked down to the main street where everyone congreates...tourists, bikers, street musicians, lovers. i perched on a low wall in front of a centuies old courthouse and listened to a bagpiper play and sweat and nod at passersby as they dropped dollar bills into his case.

i love this little town.






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i see women everywhere. i see them at odd angles and from the corner of my eye. i see their reflections in shop windows or as a blur when tearing down the street. i smell them as they walk by in the hallway and get briefly dizzy. i dream dreams of goddesses and poetesses and wake confused and bereft.

i don't want to sunder or belittle or scare, only to worship and listen and protect.

i can't un-paralize myself. this...this uncertainty is new to me. being studiously ignored is something i've never had to deal with. i'm invisible. i exist only as a vaguely quiet presence in their search for something top-shelf.







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i posted this in its own threwad a few days back. i think its waaaay too indicitive of my dorkness to be lost at the bottom of some message board. so, here's some real dorkdom for you:

(for those of you all confused like, its a bigfat long string of Cure songs made into a semi-coherent narrative)




Hey You, How Beautiful You Are. i pine over Pictures of You Inbetween Days and Maybe Someday i'll give you my heart, my Bloodflowers, my Primary and begin the One Hundred Years of our Lovesong and it will be Just Like Heaven. we'll enter A Forest of ghosts in the Hanging Garden and The Kiss of death will be The Loudest Sound, like the song of a siren From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea.

it was around 1015 on a Saturday Night when we took that Mint Car down Fascination Street to meet the Lovecats and watch them pray Prayers for Rain. you said Charlotte Sometimes mentions that Boys Don't Cry, but i said she was Hot Hot Hot, The Perfect girl, a real Catch...and it didn't matter what she thought of boys...i'd eat her Icing Sugar any day.

you told me once that If Only tonight We Could Sleep our relationship wouldn't be in such Disintergration. i said i'd been in The Same Deep Water as You, and that I was Homesick and Cold and incapable of being High on you. loving you was like writhing in The Snakepit. it was like The Last Day of Summer, it makes me Shiver and Shake and Fight the loathing, Burn-ing mess inside me.




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oh ha ha. oh hardy fuckin' har. real fuckin' funny.

so i hop on da mountain bike, strap up the backpack, plug in the 'phones and head down the street at breakneck. i'm riding the mile or so down to the mechanic shop where my fuckin' truck is being worked on because i fuckin' blew up the fuckin' engine because i'm so fuckin' cool that i have to break very expensive shit that i own. yeah, real cool.

any fuckin' way, i'm breakneckin' thru traffic, jumping curbs and being a general st00pid ass, when i get the angle all wrong on a curb and my front mudder tire scraaaaaaapes down the curb instead of hopping it.

ya, da pb slides a good ten feet going "sheeeeeeeeiiiiit" in front of kids and nuns and grandmas on the street. i slide into a 'phone pole and the bike flips up my leg, dragging the metal teeth of that oh-so-sexy ultra-grip pedal right up my shin while i catch myself on my hands so my face doesn't paint the concrete with pb teeth and brains. fuckin' a what a wipeout.

i try to salvage some coolness and for some reason scissor lock the bike between my legs and flip it off me. i pop up with bright red pb blood pooling in my shoe and my pride a'hurtin' like a bitch.

the girl that walks up and asks if i'm okay looks slightly amused when i tell her, "oh yeah, i'm all right. you wouldn't believe how much this happens. all the damn time baby. wanna make out?" ok, so maybe i wasn't that smooth, but right about then the adrenaline was pumping and i probably mumbled something about cast iron endoskeletons or some other macho bullshit.


so, i have holes in my shins, a bloody shoe and two really, really painful wrists that'll probably be screaming blue pain tomorrow. pssssshhhh yeah.

i can't get a break this week. good thing its almost over.

my dad always told me,"...if you're gonna be dumb you better be tough."

hahahaahah mutha fuck, i live for this shit.




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type o negative is touring. i've mentioned before how blisteringly cool this is. showdates and cities we'll be being awesome with the Drab Four:

10.15.04 Philadelphia, PA Theatre of the Living Arts
11.11.04 Washington, DC Nation (early show - 7pm doors)
11.13.04 Sayreville, NJ Starland Ballroom

one kickass autumn coming up.





-pb



music: mazzy star
book: avengers, brian lumley