something i'm listening to :
the good, the bad, & the queen. damon albarn has yet to disappoint. one day i want to write music like this, but about something else.
something i'm writing, slowly:
short stories set in the distant future, and one set in the future that is already here
something i ate today:
a slice of half-week old pizza from some internet-recommended queens pizzeria, but it was good. the sauce was better on the first day. it tasted like it was made by someone's foodie grandmother.
some place i don't really want to go to again:
london. the food didn't taste like anything i'd want again. i didn't find anything i was looking for, except shallow creek oysters from borough market. they were delicious, and i cracked my first smile while i was there. i paid with a stack of coins, because that's how the british roll, and wondered if coin purses were a popular thing with old ladies in europe.
some place new i do want to go to:
hong kong. i think i'd find something there, probably food.
some place i'd like to photograph:
flooded salt flats after the rain at sunset, probably bolivia.
something i'd like to eat for dinner:
paella, or atkelt wat & injera.
Showing posts with label straight up diary entry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label straight up diary entry. Show all posts
5.09.2014
woke. don't remember the dream.
mixture of physically tired, restless, wistful, wanderlusty, and cold. the humidity's been bothering me. i don't think i've been warm all day. sometimes you just want to wake up in the middle of the night, wrapped in warm blankets, in a hot room, because that moment of temperature-contentedness will be just what a soul needs, to fall back asleep easily, & happily.
i fell asleep pretty comfortably.
sleeplessness is probably how i got to know pbs a little too well.
this is a little bit of what living alone might feel like, when everyone is asleep, and i am awake. i'd take a walk, but this isn't the neighborhood for it, at this hour. i'd take my dog for a walk if i had one.
when i was young, this was prime paper-writing/ web-designing / painting time. bad sleep habits never quite go away, i guess. i wish there was someone awake to talk with. i'd exhaust my brain.
my mind's so loud. people just want to exhaust their sex drives; what about my brain?
playing cerebral games solo is like masturbation; at some point you just want another brain, another living mind to fuck, to make love to, to battle, maybe collaborate with, creatively.
thunder & lightning in the city, and i'd like to go sleep. i'd like for so much.
busy weeks, busy years. i love my friends. i love my true collaborators even more, who are my favorite souls. it's the hunger & drive & the need for fantastic execution, and they get it. so many easy routes to success, but they don't satisfy or challenge in the way that both hurts and feel so good. you can follow a clear, straightforward path, or you can just veer and go your own way. i have the best partners in kicking ass.
maybe i'll die before i achieve all the things i want. notes on mortality, things i think about generally, but lately, it's less philosophical musing, and more like a felt-reality. emotion makes all the difference in a concept being a cerebral plaything, or a factor in how one lives, presently.
i love my jazz. dead singers, melody, you are my fave companions. / i wonder how differently i'd be sleeping if i went out to catch tail instead of staying in. i could've theoretically rescheduled my morning, or've just made it work, but i didn't. i'm tired of making little inconveniences for myself. it's little sacrifices, and nobody really cares if i dick myself, or if i don't. (ha, ha, ha.)
i still want to move. i need a new space. i've been looking, so whatever. i don't want just any new space, but i'm sure i'll find the right place. while i'm being wishful, i want someone to love. i mean, i know i'm not at a dearth for friends & people to love, but it's that desire for a partner where it's like, hey, you, if you're sick, i'll make you soup because you need soup, but also, i kind of adore you, for just being human & alive in a je-ne-sais-quoi way that makes me happy.
love is like finding the perfect book, and it just makes you happy, because of the serendipity, but also, because you exist in the same universe of this wonderful thing, and you have found it, so you are never existentially alone anymore.
i don't feel like i'm existentially alone, which is excellent. my dude is out there. maybe i already met him, and i'm just oblivious to the obviousness of how awesome it'd be, or maybe i haven't yet, and we're about to encounter, but whatever. life is life. is short. is a rose, or rather, is a chrysanth, because i love those flowers. they're hardy and bold-beautiful, and they smell amazing. sure, they're not as soft or conventionally floral as other flowers, but they don't decay ugly.
a boy stopped by my bar the other night to tell me that he sold the little puppy that i loved, to a good owner. then he left. later, he came back with a rose. he picked up a bouquet for his friend's birthday, and decided to bring me a flower too.
i think gestures are cliche, but recognizing the cliche doesn't make it feel any less sweet. it made my evening a little lovelier. i talk cynical-cerebral, but i'm touched by all the little things. the thought counts.
also i really wanted that puppy. i cradled that adorable dude for the longest time.
on a different tangent, orgasms are great, but i want a guy who'll love me for being my silly weird self. high demands, i know. earlier i was kidding around with my best friend, and i was all like, man, some girls just want a guy to like them and do mushy boyfriend stuff like get dressed up and go to restaurants and be quiet at each other and give each other stinky flowers, and i just want a dude who likes hanging out with me and playing videogames and doing dorky artsy stuff. not that i'm not down to femme-up and go out, but i can already do that myself. the problem is that plenty of dudes are down to hang, but i have zero desire to sleep with most of them, and most of them aren't into good music or videogames or most of the stuff i like. that's like, zero connection. maybe i'll die alone because i need a guy to be funny, intelligent, relatively cute, relatively genuinely kind, driven, ambitious, self-aware, passionate about his interests, AND be mildly superhuman, while being also super human & mildly flawed in ways i'm going to find endearing.
also, i suspect marriage is for 50, 60-somethings. they seem to like it best. everyone else seems to kinda just grit their teeth through it, but maybe that's just the having kids & a family thing, which seems a little forced. contractual child-rearing!
mixture of physically tired, restless, wistful, wanderlusty, and cold. the humidity's been bothering me. i don't think i've been warm all day. sometimes you just want to wake up in the middle of the night, wrapped in warm blankets, in a hot room, because that moment of temperature-contentedness will be just what a soul needs, to fall back asleep easily, & happily.
i fell asleep pretty comfortably.
sleeplessness is probably how i got to know pbs a little too well.
this is a little bit of what living alone might feel like, when everyone is asleep, and i am awake. i'd take a walk, but this isn't the neighborhood for it, at this hour. i'd take my dog for a walk if i had one.
when i was young, this was prime paper-writing/ web-designing / painting time. bad sleep habits never quite go away, i guess. i wish there was someone awake to talk with. i'd exhaust my brain.
my mind's so loud. people just want to exhaust their sex drives; what about my brain?
playing cerebral games solo is like masturbation; at some point you just want another brain, another living mind to fuck, to make love to, to battle, maybe collaborate with, creatively.
thunder & lightning in the city, and i'd like to go sleep. i'd like for so much.
busy weeks, busy years. i love my friends. i love my true collaborators even more, who are my favorite souls. it's the hunger & drive & the need for fantastic execution, and they get it. so many easy routes to success, but they don't satisfy or challenge in the way that both hurts and feel so good. you can follow a clear, straightforward path, or you can just veer and go your own way. i have the best partners in kicking ass.
maybe i'll die before i achieve all the things i want. notes on mortality, things i think about generally, but lately, it's less philosophical musing, and more like a felt-reality. emotion makes all the difference in a concept being a cerebral plaything, or a factor in how one lives, presently.
i love my jazz. dead singers, melody, you are my fave companions. / i wonder how differently i'd be sleeping if i went out to catch tail instead of staying in. i could've theoretically rescheduled my morning, or've just made it work, but i didn't. i'm tired of making little inconveniences for myself. it's little sacrifices, and nobody really cares if i dick myself, or if i don't. (ha, ha, ha.)
i still want to move. i need a new space. i've been looking, so whatever. i don't want just any new space, but i'm sure i'll find the right place. while i'm being wishful, i want someone to love. i mean, i know i'm not at a dearth for friends & people to love, but it's that desire for a partner where it's like, hey, you, if you're sick, i'll make you soup because you need soup, but also, i kind of adore you, for just being human & alive in a je-ne-sais-quoi way that makes me happy.
love is like finding the perfect book, and it just makes you happy, because of the serendipity, but also, because you exist in the same universe of this wonderful thing, and you have found it, so you are never existentially alone anymore.
i don't feel like i'm existentially alone, which is excellent. my dude is out there. maybe i already met him, and i'm just oblivious to the obviousness of how awesome it'd be, or maybe i haven't yet, and we're about to encounter, but whatever. life is life. is short. is a rose, or rather, is a chrysanth, because i love those flowers. they're hardy and bold-beautiful, and they smell amazing. sure, they're not as soft or conventionally floral as other flowers, but they don't decay ugly.
a boy stopped by my bar the other night to tell me that he sold the little puppy that i loved, to a good owner. then he left. later, he came back with a rose. he picked up a bouquet for his friend's birthday, and decided to bring me a flower too.
i think gestures are cliche, but recognizing the cliche doesn't make it feel any less sweet. it made my evening a little lovelier. i talk cynical-cerebral, but i'm touched by all the little things. the thought counts.
also i really wanted that puppy. i cradled that adorable dude for the longest time.
on a different tangent, orgasms are great, but i want a guy who'll love me for being my silly weird self. high demands, i know. earlier i was kidding around with my best friend, and i was all like, man, some girls just want a guy to like them and do mushy boyfriend stuff like get dressed up and go to restaurants and be quiet at each other and give each other stinky flowers, and i just want a dude who likes hanging out with me and playing videogames and doing dorky artsy stuff. not that i'm not down to femme-up and go out, but i can already do that myself. the problem is that plenty of dudes are down to hang, but i have zero desire to sleep with most of them, and most of them aren't into good music or videogames or most of the stuff i like. that's like, zero connection. maybe i'll die alone because i need a guy to be funny, intelligent, relatively cute, relatively genuinely kind, driven, ambitious, self-aware, passionate about his interests, AND be mildly superhuman, while being also super human & mildly flawed in ways i'm going to find endearing.
also, i suspect marriage is for 50, 60-somethings. they seem to like it best. everyone else seems to kinda just grit their teeth through it, but maybe that's just the having kids & a family thing, which seems a little forced. contractual child-rearing!
3.22.2014
could've spiraled into self-loathing & shame, but i didn't.
i had a bad night.
i was numbing my feels for a while & venting in overproductivity, which is great, in some ways.
i get beautiful work done. and then shit was done, and well, y'know, you can't avoid dealing with things forever. plus it was killing my music.
if i cried like a normal person, i would've cried, but i wasn't raw like that, and it's been coming out in all the other ways. people love swooping in and trying to play shoulder & hero when i'm down, but i keep my sadness safe from bored parasites. some people are dissatisfied with their own lives so they try to live in mine instead of working on theirs, but i've gotten pretty adept at keeping superficial people out.
it was too much gin, & the perfect amount of mac & cheese, & all the feelings i didn't want.
grief and despair and anger and goddamn honest vulnerability. and it was the admitting to myself that i was still holding on. and it was the letting go.
i don't think anybody meant to hurt anyone. nobody needed the bullshit.
we were building a scary nothing-castle on storm clouds, and when the rain came down, we were just wet kids, strangers on the playground at dusk, needing to go elsewhere. you didn't need to go home, but you couldn't stay.
i woke up in the morning and laughed. it was okay. i did music.
people fall in love all the time. we always think the last one or the next one is it. we want to stop looking but i think love just happens whenever it happens. it just works out better when people are also genuinely happy/satisfied with their lives.
---
i looked through the sin rostro two-year anniversary photos for the first time, and there was this adorable one where i was crouched on the stage during the intermission, watching everyone have a fantastic time at the show, and i was beaming & super happy. i did a thing, and it was beautiful and heartfelt and so many friggin sharp writers & artists & musicians & comedians & storytellers & crazy projects came out of the scene. and i am so proud of everyone. it was soulful expression & perfected aesthetics, and the things we really wanted to do. it was a venue for worthwhile work that didn't fit prescribed scenes. we're on hiatus at the moment, until i can do more hands-on work, but this is my baby. i started from nowhere on this, at 22, and i did right by sin rostro.
there was a choice there; it could become a regular consumer product, or it could keep being the vital loved thing. people don't always see the difference, but i know it. i don't half-ass anything.
-
one of my friends from college got all passive-aggressive moody at me because i've been busy, and she was all like, "some people think you're selfish and insincere." and i was like, "well. i've been busy, so i don't know who these people are." and she was like, "i'm not naming names, but i feel this might be true."
and then politely, i was like, "well. considering that i spend all my time running from work to project to work to project to work to project, kind of endlessly, 8 hour heavy shifts to 13-16 hour shifts and back and forth with no time for myself, where i work my heart out on multiple projects in pouring rain or the freezing cold or swampy heat, with like no sleep, while also staying emotionally level & singlehandedly taking care of my mother while i watched her almost die, awake, but quite slowly, like her heart stopped 8 times, in the e.r. in the last few months, while maintaining all the jobs & productions i love, & meeting all the deadlines-- i haven't really seen anyone except the people & kids i work with, & a stupid, incredible amount of doctors & e.r. staff. and i still was there for every friend who was legit going through a hard time too, whether it was death of a loved one or terrible illness or sudden unemployment. the few people i do see, are also working their asses off & are doing a million things. ...but, to cut it short, i probably don't know who these fantastic people are, who've got the luxury of all this excessive time & energy to deem me selfish & insincere. i mean, if i had that much time, god, all the cool things i'd do."
there was no finesse, but she had nothing to say after that.
i had a bad night.
i was numbing my feels for a while & venting in overproductivity, which is great, in some ways.
i get beautiful work done. and then shit was done, and well, y'know, you can't avoid dealing with things forever. plus it was killing my music.
if i cried like a normal person, i would've cried, but i wasn't raw like that, and it's been coming out in all the other ways. people love swooping in and trying to play shoulder & hero when i'm down, but i keep my sadness safe from bored parasites. some people are dissatisfied with their own lives so they try to live in mine instead of working on theirs, but i've gotten pretty adept at keeping superficial people out.
it was too much gin, & the perfect amount of mac & cheese, & all the feelings i didn't want.
grief and despair and anger and goddamn honest vulnerability. and it was the admitting to myself that i was still holding on. and it was the letting go.
i don't think anybody meant to hurt anyone. nobody needed the bullshit.
we were building a scary nothing-castle on storm clouds, and when the rain came down, we were just wet kids, strangers on the playground at dusk, needing to go elsewhere. you didn't need to go home, but you couldn't stay.
i woke up in the morning and laughed. it was okay. i did music.
people fall in love all the time. we always think the last one or the next one is it. we want to stop looking but i think love just happens whenever it happens. it just works out better when people are also genuinely happy/satisfied with their lives.
---
i looked through the sin rostro two-year anniversary photos for the first time, and there was this adorable one where i was crouched on the stage during the intermission, watching everyone have a fantastic time at the show, and i was beaming & super happy. i did a thing, and it was beautiful and heartfelt and so many friggin sharp writers & artists & musicians & comedians & storytellers & crazy projects came out of the scene. and i am so proud of everyone. it was soulful expression & perfected aesthetics, and the things we really wanted to do. it was a venue for worthwhile work that didn't fit prescribed scenes. we're on hiatus at the moment, until i can do more hands-on work, but this is my baby. i started from nowhere on this, at 22, and i did right by sin rostro.
there was a choice there; it could become a regular consumer product, or it could keep being the vital loved thing. people don't always see the difference, but i know it. i don't half-ass anything.
-
one of my friends from college got all passive-aggressive moody at me because i've been busy, and she was all like, "some people think you're selfish and insincere." and i was like, "well. i've been busy, so i don't know who these people are." and she was like, "i'm not naming names, but i feel this might be true."
and then politely, i was like, "well. considering that i spend all my time running from work to project to work to project to work to project, kind of endlessly, 8 hour heavy shifts to 13-16 hour shifts and back and forth with no time for myself, where i work my heart out on multiple projects in pouring rain or the freezing cold or swampy heat, with like no sleep, while also staying emotionally level & singlehandedly taking care of my mother while i watched her almost die, awake, but quite slowly, like her heart stopped 8 times, in the e.r. in the last few months, while maintaining all the jobs & productions i love, & meeting all the deadlines-- i haven't really seen anyone except the people & kids i work with, & a stupid, incredible amount of doctors & e.r. staff. and i still was there for every friend who was legit going through a hard time too, whether it was death of a loved one or terrible illness or sudden unemployment. the few people i do see, are also working their asses off & are doing a million things. ...but, to cut it short, i probably don't know who these fantastic people are, who've got the luxury of all this excessive time & energy to deem me selfish & insincere. i mean, if i had that much time, god, all the cool things i'd do."
there was no finesse, but she had nothing to say after that.
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