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Woke up at 11 from a strange dream about being held prisoner and having to shoot somebody in the heart with a poison-injection gun. It was actually really terrifying, but at least it wasn’t a zombie dream this time. Or at least I don’t think it was.
Today my plan is to walk to the library while listening to Blonde on Blonde, find books about unorthodox US travel (my prime target is Dishwasher, about Pete Jordan, who made it a goal to wash dishes in all 50 states) and some comic books, and then come home and read them. Meeting Mallory at 7:30 for Zombieland (second viewing—it’s that good). Oh, and lots of coffee. That’s my day. The good ones have been flowing lately.
Making vague travel plans in my head. If I load myself with freelance work, I want to see if I can go on a two-week bus trip roughly every two months. A bit of an experiment.
Also, working on a new writing project. More on that soon.
Edit: went to the library, and paid a two-dollar fine on my account for a movie that I kept out late that I realized wasn’t even worth the late fee by the time I finally got around to watching it. Bummer. But now my account is cleared, so I nabbed the aforementioned Dishwasher book, plus the Achewood Great Outdoor Fight collection and a coupla other comics. Good haul today.
(Aforementioned state-of-my-musical-life post will appear after this brief pseudo-stream-of-consciousness interruption)
Fri Sep 5
Looking for prophets and mystics in everything and everyone—none to be found
C. warned me not to idolize Kerouac, but it’s tough when you can’t find something you love that also loves you back
Sun Sep 7
Found out yesterday can connect to either T. Yorke or Bjork (my choice) in only three steps because Julia K. knows all Icelanders—over-caffeinated conversation from six until after dark—
A dream—coming around a bend—got my shirt up around my mouth (funny-looking)—girl in strange clothes—she laughs—later think I’m in love with her—try to find her somewhere—rest unclear
Watching Office, episode where Dwight is depressed over Angela, retreats into Second Life (ends up creating Second Second Life), Jim’s character in S.L. a sportswriter in Philadelphia and Pam making fun of him calling him “Philly Jim” and the first thing I think of is–well, predictable. You’re that whole city to me.
