Say Goodbye to Gravity
Nothing cohesive at the moment. I felt a strong desire to start writing something, although I admit that I have idea what that "something" is supposed to be. I thought that if I just dumped random thoughts into this blog, then I'd come up with something interesting.
I was telling someone at the pub last night about the time that Stephanie and I found the crazy dungeon while tripping and walking around outside. In retrospect, that was some craziness. I mean, there were so many beautiful things to look at all night, and then there was this dungeon. We had been walking down the sidewalk and there was this tree and the way it bended was surreal. While walking towards this tree, we came upon this strange looking garden, inside of a gate that was suspciously unlocked. Originally, I walked in the garden because it was neat. Later, we came back to the house and it was ever darker than it had been before, when we just thought of it as strange. Stephanie went all the way up to the house, but I was too dedicated to thinking that the house was evil, so I stayed on the street. Eventually I did go up near it because Steph had realized that there was a dungeon underneath the porch. It was definately a dungeon.
Oddly enough, on the way back, or at some point-- I can't really tell you all what times these events took place, as time did not really exist; we noticed that all the gates were unlocked. I could swear to you that they were closed when we began walking. Oh man. I just remember! Lunchbox was upstairs asleep and we yelled "TACO!!" at him and ran out. Wow. I had totally not remembered that until just now. See, I knew writing was going to be a good thing to do. Oh, back to the gates. It was neat. I thought, "Wow, look. We've just unlocked all doors." The metaphorical implication of that thought was massive, especially since I had not been in Chicago for longer than a month-- and here I was, tripping, staring at Big Brother, blinking blue, and talking about how the color orange should really taste. Should it taste like an Orange? Should it really? I mean, who's to say that Orange should taste like citrus? What does Blue taste like? I don't know, but I know what grey tastes like-- Cigarettes. I am glad to not be smoking anymore-- but damn you Jennifer for insisting that I have TWO last night!! I hate that taste!!
In the meantime, since I have not been smoking, I have had to find activities that occupy my time, besides writing because smoking and writing were two of my most beloved things and doing them together happened with a frequency that can only be described as terminal velocity. So, I went out and bought a new mit, thinking that my old one was still at home. I figured playing catch with dad would help him stop smoking too, and it would also solve our problem of no excercise. So I went and bought the new mit and got some old baseballs, so that we could do that. Turns out, my bats and my old glove have, like almost all of my other possessions and clothes, myseriously disappeared. I mean, getting rid of your son's baseball glove? That's just wrong. That was my from when I still played. It was the glove from our team's best season ever, which we still lost in the championship game. I'll never forget that day. Man, so much of my stuff has been trashed, and I do not care that much about the majority of it-- but my ball glove was special, and now I gotta go buy my dad a glove if we are to play catch.
In the meantime, I've been calling games and pitching against the fence on the tennis court alone. I was told, that it was a very depressing image. The sun is setting. I'm out there in my Kerry Woods shirt and 1914 Cubs hat, pitching against imaginary batters, with a strike-zone that is expansive, but still so elusive to me. I could never be a pitcher. First base was just fine. Honestly, I have a lot of fun out there playing against the fence. I mean, I even think about smoking cigarettes while playing, but I feel so good about being outside throwing the ball and NOT smoking, that it makes the whole experience a largely happy one. I'm going to be the king of picking-off grounders.
I am so excited about going back to Chicago. I was driving down my old block yesterday on the way over to the house, and I thought to myself, "So many kids will walk down this road to the bus, just like I did on this street when I was younger. So many families will move in and move out; but this street will always be my street. Just like New York will always be where I came from-- and Sarasota is where I grew up. No matter where I go, this was my home once." Because I haven't used the word in a long time, because Steph and I agreed that we both use it too frequently, I am going to use it here to say that the moment was very poignant.
I look forward to being in the scene again. I suppose, it is just marvelous to see culture changing so quickly and with so many implications. People down here are starting to look more and more like people I know in Chicago. Music habits are changing as well-- being in Chicago was like being the litmus paper for cultural habits across the nation. I know that other major cities have that too-- but I just like how it's done up there. I found it very condusive to how I live anyway. The lack of nature hurts me, but the thought of seasons excites me; and Wisconsin is not too far away. So what's going on Mekon?
I just want to listen to "Rainy Monday" pver and over again. It makes me remember so much happiness, amidst this terrible gloom I was feeling during the move. There was so much sadness. There was so much to keep me from focusing on the sadness. There was so much energy and life. You feel so tired, sometimes, because you can't recall the last time that your mind wasn't going a hundred-miles an hour. If you get a quiet moment only then do you realize how long its been since you took a deep breath, or since you let it sink in that you are at the forefront a powerful revolution of youthful minds, intelligent, reckless, open, and fearless. We walk into this future with an incredible sense of urgency and purpose. Art is taking over.
Nothing cohesive at the moment. I felt a strong desire to start writing something, although I admit that I have idea what that "something" is supposed to be. I thought that if I just dumped random thoughts into this blog, then I'd come up with something interesting.
I was telling someone at the pub last night about the time that Stephanie and I found the crazy dungeon while tripping and walking around outside. In retrospect, that was some craziness. I mean, there were so many beautiful things to look at all night, and then there was this dungeon. We had been walking down the sidewalk and there was this tree and the way it bended was surreal. While walking towards this tree, we came upon this strange looking garden, inside of a gate that was suspciously unlocked. Originally, I walked in the garden because it was neat. Later, we came back to the house and it was ever darker than it had been before, when we just thought of it as strange. Stephanie went all the way up to the house, but I was too dedicated to thinking that the house was evil, so I stayed on the street. Eventually I did go up near it because Steph had realized that there was a dungeon underneath the porch. It was definately a dungeon.
Oddly enough, on the way back, or at some point-- I can't really tell you all what times these events took place, as time did not really exist; we noticed that all the gates were unlocked. I could swear to you that they were closed when we began walking. Oh man. I just remember! Lunchbox was upstairs asleep and we yelled "TACO!!" at him and ran out. Wow. I had totally not remembered that until just now. See, I knew writing was going to be a good thing to do. Oh, back to the gates. It was neat. I thought, "Wow, look. We've just unlocked all doors." The metaphorical implication of that thought was massive, especially since I had not been in Chicago for longer than a month-- and here I was, tripping, staring at Big Brother, blinking blue, and talking about how the color orange should really taste. Should it taste like an Orange? Should it really? I mean, who's to say that Orange should taste like citrus? What does Blue taste like? I don't know, but I know what grey tastes like-- Cigarettes. I am glad to not be smoking anymore-- but damn you Jennifer for insisting that I have TWO last night!! I hate that taste!!
In the meantime, since I have not been smoking, I have had to find activities that occupy my time, besides writing because smoking and writing were two of my most beloved things and doing them together happened with a frequency that can only be described as terminal velocity. So, I went out and bought a new mit, thinking that my old one was still at home. I figured playing catch with dad would help him stop smoking too, and it would also solve our problem of no excercise. So I went and bought the new mit and got some old baseballs, so that we could do that. Turns out, my bats and my old glove have, like almost all of my other possessions and clothes, myseriously disappeared. I mean, getting rid of your son's baseball glove? That's just wrong. That was my from when I still played. It was the glove from our team's best season ever, which we still lost in the championship game. I'll never forget that day. Man, so much of my stuff has been trashed, and I do not care that much about the majority of it-- but my ball glove was special, and now I gotta go buy my dad a glove if we are to play catch.
In the meantime, I've been calling games and pitching against the fence on the tennis court alone. I was told, that it was a very depressing image. The sun is setting. I'm out there in my Kerry Woods shirt and 1914 Cubs hat, pitching against imaginary batters, with a strike-zone that is expansive, but still so elusive to me. I could never be a pitcher. First base was just fine. Honestly, I have a lot of fun out there playing against the fence. I mean, I even think about smoking cigarettes while playing, but I feel so good about being outside throwing the ball and NOT smoking, that it makes the whole experience a largely happy one. I'm going to be the king of picking-off grounders.
I am so excited about going back to Chicago. I was driving down my old block yesterday on the way over to the house, and I thought to myself, "So many kids will walk down this road to the bus, just like I did on this street when I was younger. So many families will move in and move out; but this street will always be my street. Just like New York will always be where I came from-- and Sarasota is where I grew up. No matter where I go, this was my home once." Because I haven't used the word in a long time, because Steph and I agreed that we both use it too frequently, I am going to use it here to say that the moment was very poignant.
I look forward to being in the scene again. I suppose, it is just marvelous to see culture changing so quickly and with so many implications. People down here are starting to look more and more like people I know in Chicago. Music habits are changing as well-- being in Chicago was like being the litmus paper for cultural habits across the nation. I know that other major cities have that too-- but I just like how it's done up there. I found it very condusive to how I live anyway. The lack of nature hurts me, but the thought of seasons excites me; and Wisconsin is not too far away. So what's going on Mekon?
I just want to listen to "Rainy Monday" pver and over again. It makes me remember so much happiness, amidst this terrible gloom I was feeling during the move. There was so much sadness. There was so much to keep me from focusing on the sadness. There was so much energy and life. You feel so tired, sometimes, because you can't recall the last time that your mind wasn't going a hundred-miles an hour. If you get a quiet moment only then do you realize how long its been since you took a deep breath, or since you let it sink in that you are at the forefront a powerful revolution of youthful minds, intelligent, reckless, open, and fearless. We walk into this future with an incredible sense of urgency and purpose. Art is taking over.