Friday, November 26, 2004

War All the Time

It's 11:23, the day after Thanksgiving, and my roommate is still in his room, playing war games. The sound of automatic weapons fire, death grunts, and radio communications with commands like "Kill him now!" are coming through his doorway. Good times. I wanted to ask him to go to my folks for Thanksgiving, but that kind of thing is always a little weird. My dad has Alzheimer's and my mom forgets a lot as's a matter of gauging how resilient people will be to answering the same question over and over. I don't know...I suppose I was more concerned about my own discomfort. Selfish, to the last tiny bone in my eardrum. But who's to say he hasn't had a satisfying time killing in his room? He's been doing it all week.

The Avengers are playing at the Du Nord tonight. Didn't really feel up for a show--I've got to wake up at 7 tomorrow for the races. I missed the Dicks, Crime, and now the Avengers. Struck out on the legendary SF punk thing.

Feeling spaced and alone. Got laid off a couple weeks ago...come Dec. 15, no job. Not looking forward to finding another, not stoked on the idea that it may be back to clubs and cabs... Not feeling it. I see the abyss coming, and I'm not feeling too comfortable about it. I don't want to go there, but I'm standing on one of those moving sidewalks at the airport. Or a glacier. A river of ice, slow flowing into the sea. What I'd normally do in this situation is try to find the nearest wet-eyed girl to fall in love with. Someone told me the other day: "Interested is interesting." If someone shows interest, you're drawn to that. Hey, maybe I am okay. Here's someone I can tell all my old crash and burn stories to, and she can tell me hers, and we can lick each other's wounds by the fireside until we come. Then we'll scrub our brains out with dreams and go eat waffles. "This must be love, love, love. Nothing more, nothing less--love is the best."

K's grandmother died today, while I was in meditation class.

Like everything, this mood is a song. Let's try "Coney Island Baby" by Mr. Lou Reed, without the part about playing football for the coach:

When you’re all alone and lonely
In your midnight hour
And you find that your soul
It’s been up for sale
And you begin to think ’bout
All the things that you’ve done
And you begin to hate
Just ’bout everything

But remember the princess who lived on the hill
Who loved you even though she knew you was wrong
And right now she just might come shining through
And the--
glory of love, glory of love
Glory of love, just might come through

And all your two-bit friends
Have gone and ripped you off
They’re talking behind your back saying, man
You’re never going to be no human being
And you start thinking again
’bout all those things that you’ve done
And who it was and what it was
And all the different things you made every different scene

Ahhh, but remember that the city is a funny place
Something like a circus or a sewer
And just remember different people have peculiar tastes
And the--
glory of love, the glory of love
The glory of love, might see you through

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