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Friday, Apr. 26, 2002 / 9:02 p.m. ~Memories As Clouds Waiting to Be Blown Away By a Strong Wind~
Finally, today's energy is slipping away, or maybe it's taking a little break and it will be back after a while, and I think that's from an Elvis Costello song.... give me just a second and my memory, such as it is, will process the information.....
........
............... still processing, don't be so impatient.
"Oswald and his sister are doin' it again Huh?
"Less Than Zero", off the album "My Aim is True", the only vinyl I ever bought right off the turntable. Literally. Oh yeah. I was in this little used record shop, I must've been 19 years old, maybe 18 (?), and I was shopping, looking for something, I can't remember what, and this album was playing.... "Hey, what is that? Who is that?" "Oh, it's Elvis Costello, my only copy, you want it?" "Yeah!". I just looked at the album cover, the little sticker is still on it: $3. And that was in 1980, probably. I taped it, I listened to it over and over and over in my car, everywhere I went. I sang along, I bopped, I pogo'd, I loved this album.
Yes, I had to get the album and plunk it on the turntable just now to write down the lyrics to that song. I hope they're accurate. And I guess I didn't "plunk" it, but it is playing right now. Ahhhh..... vinyl.
I got "Superfly" in the mail today, my first Curtis Mayfield CD, and I'm very excited. I think I'll listen to it next. This wasn't what I was going to write here right now, not at all. It was writing "take a little break and be back after a while", it took me someplace else entirely.
I love this song.... "Waiting For the End of the World". My tape cut off during this song when I recorded it. It went too long, I began to anticipate the cut while I played it in my car. Every time, "Dammit! Fuck! I HATE that!" I should re-tape it, all these years later.
Lulu and Penelope are so excited that I'm going out with Sandy. They're far more excited than I. So they went off, every few minutes, "So??? Have you decided what to wear? What are you going to do? Are you excited? You have a daaaaaate!", as if it's my first one. At one point I turned to Lulu and said, "Look, I'm 41, I've been dating since I was 15, I've done this a few times already, okay? It's not the first time, how do you know I don't go out EVERY Saturday night?!", but I was harsh, it wasn't necessary. I can't stand them knowing about my personal life, but sometimes I can't hold things in.
Like last year when I found Steve online and we wrote so many emails, talked on the phone for hours and hours and I went to work and exploded with the excitement of it. And they were all so happy for me, telling me this was "it", this was "meant to be", etc. Obviously they were wrong, but who could know? I don't get excited about anyone anymore. There is no one who does it for me, who turns me on, but it's true that I took a moment to fantasize about Sandy, and this was a few nights ago.
Now I'm thinking he may be too needy, he may not be the loner I want him to be, he may like me too much, there may not be the balance I need, and I may feel I'm wasting my time entirely. So it's nice that I can choose where we eat, maybe I can choose a movie, maybe I can do something I'd want to do anyway, and that seems wrong, but it's a safety net, or insurance of a kind, that I will not be pleasing someone else, but ultimately pleasing myself.
Lulu told me to take some mood swing medicine, and it was said so nonchalantly I had to repeat it, to say, "Did you just say....?" before I could comprehend it, and it's very funny really, but what could it mean, what could mood swing medicine be, other than Paxil or whatever? I don't take drugs. Not those kind, isn't it more entertaining to not know what to expect from one's self?
I lost anything I wanted to write. I felt it, then I was distracted by Elvis Costello and now I'm listening to "Superfly" and that first song was blech, so I'm confused too. On top of everything else. And I wrote back to Skipper earlier, trying to make amends for not writing back sooner. We're not going out tonight, clearly. I couldn't do ("do"???) two men in one weekend, friends, not friends, I don't care. That's just me. I had to explain to Lulu that I LOVE being alone, that I can stay in my apartment for days and never leave, I love being with just me and the cats. And the computer, the stereo, the TV. Take away the electricity and I may answer differently.
Now I'm scattered again. Now I'm inserting paragraph tags in HTML, and I don't ever do that, so it's not free flowing, this typing thing, and any thoughts I had in my head, the feelings I wanted to write, not the details, not the day, not who said what and when, but inside, the parts you can't see, it's gone, I think.
A country gas station just popped in my head, the image, and I think I know it, and Sarsaparilla, or is it Sasparilla?, a soda made with it and it tastes of licorice, and suddenly I remember foraging for wild blueberries in a very hot Summer afternoon. Images popping in my head like that, just from listening to Curtis Mayfield.
But we weren't listening to Curtis Mayfield then, there is no music for that memory. Why should I think of the heat of a hot Southern Summer? Why should I suddenly flash to that inside my head, and why do dream images show themselves when I'm doing something so innocuous as cleaning the litter box? Lean over, Oh, rememember THAT dream? That must've been this morning?
Want to stop and take a moment to flip through the dream file? It's feelings, not details, it's all so real and I'll go there again later, tonight, that place, that separate reality, which reminds me of Carlos Castaneda and his wild trips in the desert, on peyote, and the time I smoked peyote and it did nothing, it couldn't have been real, was it real? And remember Pat's boyfriend? He paid their way to Canada selling peyote buttons, they sat on the "dash" in the front of the MACK truck, drying in the sun. "Do you wanna try some?". Which reminds me of the dress, that batik dress that I never found again, and of course staying up all night watching the stars and the moon, listening to that one tell me of his hardships, and what were we on that night?
It all flows in a relaxed state, doesn't it? It is not currently clearing, like the clouds in yesterday's wind, when I pause now they all roll in and fill the empty spaces, blow in and out, these memories, dreams and reality. I don't know why, now, today, or tonight, or any other time. Or if I'm receptive to it at some times, or if it's all misfirings of the synapses, as deja vu. Deja vu, one thinks it, one knows it, and I know it's a glitch, a bug, not a virus in the program, just a bug, give it a sec and it will clear up. No, this didn't happen before, there is a misfiring of sorts, and it is causing me to believe this is happening, something has caused the hyper drive to fail, and "Scotty, how soon can you have us up and running?", "I'll need more time, Captain".
We can wait.
I feel heavy. There will be no second wind. It was the Andouille and Provolone, it's the clogging of my arteries, and I wouldn't have eaten that, but I figured the whole wheat bread would be a good balance, there's some fiber, it's all good, right? Jesus, what was I thinking? It was in the fridge, I made do. I have Publix fresh fruit salad for later. Now must be later. Fruit will cleanse, I'm guessing.
Tomorrow is not much, it can't be that much, it's not whatever Lulu and Penelope, and now Kukla joining in, think it is. Kukla adding her two cents and more by day's end, saying she knows I don't share my private life. Ahhhhh, yes, you see that too? It's purposeful, I don't always like any of you, me, "le misanthrope". I don't want you inside of me, you don't get to know where I've been, who I see, what I really do on weekends, you hear "It was fine", "I'm fine", you don't get to know more than that. You knowing that I've been propositioned, that's new, to you, to me, it wasn't your business, but you know, and let's leave it at that. Because it's nothing. I don't want it to be anything.
Remind me I said that. Later.
He doesn't want me to judge his "bourgeois home". He has money. He is a hippie with money. He is an antiestablishment man of leisure. He is what he abhors, but he knows, so he strives to change. I am not judging, I only listened, that's all. He likes me, what can I say?
I must eat fruit now. This album is weird. It doesn't exactly sound fresh and new after all these years. Maybe I'll listen to some Bach instead. I need comfort music.
We've now gone from Curtis Mayfield's "Superfly" to J.S. Bach's Violin Concerto in D Minor, as played by Itzhak Perlman. Joy. Again, memories, why am I sinking inside my brain? How can I listen to this and not see myself at Symphony Hall with my father? How can I not remember asking him to hook me up with my own budding Classical record collection, the time he purchased this for me, and Vivaldi's Four Seasons, and there was something else too, in that pile of vinyl, because he bought me what I asked for. I never asked for too much, and he accomodated thusly, and I can picture him in my apartment, me opening the present, the albums, putting them on, loving them, these Classical records that were my own, not his for a change. The other was Mozart, but which one? I'd have to look, and there may have been more.
I miss Classical music. Why have I shut it out? Why do I no longer play my guitar? What happened to me? Where is the me who was so many things?
Can you say "MOOD SWING"??!!!
Won't Sandy have fun with me tomorrow?! That's a rhetorical question. Don't even start to answer it. Okay, I'm going now. I'm going to stop writing now. I need a break from myself, if for a few hours, and why is it still so early? It should be midnight. It's only 10:00. (I wish you could close your eyes and hear the beauty that is this concerto - you could not resist it, you could not help but emit a little moan, unbidden - Bach.... mmmmmmmm..... unnnnhhhh.... I could dance to it)
Cost of the War in Iraq
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