C.I.A.

only you know what you've done.

i've been back for a couple days now. desperately pretending i can be forthright. my roommate just signed away his next ten years to the army. i just hope the war is over soon.

i think about writing so much all day but now i don't have anything to say. i wish i was drunk.

bare walls.

not being shy.

gin.

pretty girls.

bowling.

i think tomorrow night i'm gonna take a couple shots and walk around the campus in the dark with a good friend of mine. it's so easy to talk like that. i'm looking forward to it.

i wonder how it is i can be completely different depending on who i'm talking to. i don't realize it. i can't stop it. i don't really know who i am. that's scary.

i haven't really talked to you since you started going out with him. i guess it's because it just fucking gets to me somewhere. it's frustrating to be forced to accept that the guys you go for are not one bit like me. i never really liked him, not in high school, ever. he's arrogant. sort of an ass. i mean, i hope he treats you well... we were in a goddamn band together. i wasn't his friend... but the way he treated the guy who thought he was his friend? i hated it. and all these little catchwords? i see them. i hate them too. some days, i guess, i just hate.

there's something strangely endearing about first spending time with someone over the body of a sick girl in a friend's apartment bathroom.

judy and the dream of horses. no fucking kidding.

why are all girls so enthralled with horses? i mean... it's fun-ish. but not that great. not as great as they make it out to be. horsey girls. shit, and they seem to be the interesting ones.

i have shin splints like a motherfucker. it's real nice out in reynolda, though. i might head out there again tomorrow. if i can make myself. it's all about hating your body.

am i the only one with nobody to miss? sometimes i feel like the only lonely boy in the world.

explosions (in my mind)

i have that same old sickness. the one i had earlier in the summer. the one where i get this deja-vu feeling but it's so strong and so potent that it's overwhelming. takes me back to a dream some early morning, some frustration of still being in bed and stuck in limbo. the song in my head changes just a little bit, to a more mocking, taunting part. everything in the room gains a personality and sneers at me. laughs at me. i swear to god it's true. the things i've done a thousand times before, the places i've seen more times than i can remember. i have to lay down for a while or it will get to me. my head shrinks, pressure like someone lit a fire at the back of my skull. sweating. headache. nausea. my mother thinks it's premonitions, migraines. feels like death to me.

it's only going to feel like 93 tomorrow. how cool is that? (rimshot) after all the 100-degree days we've been having... seems like an excellent day to get some mulching done. i'll go out in the morning and get a truckfull up the road, spend all day shoveling it from the bed out onto our lawns at various places. oh, it's a dream come true. i guess i never dug that hole, though, so i need some sort of shovelwork.

fuck. not much to say tonight. today was all wrong anyway. an off-day i guess. maybe it's cause i was so sick last night. i don't know. i was driving out to fuquay this morning and i could tell that it was all wrong. the music i was so fond of, it felt empty, same this afternoon. maybe it's cause i hadn't been to fuquay for that reason in years, i don't know. it felt different to be inside my head, in control of my body. like something had changed way down in the key, in the core, in the root of myself. way down as far as you can go. the taproot i came from. not the same person. like i'd just come off major surgery, hospital maintenance, yesterday, and there were still some fucked up chemicals floating around in my body. not everything right. lights on in the daytime will do that to me. it's not a good idea. driving out to garner to drop books off at the library, same thing. one of my favorite albums and i just couldn't get into it. dinner didn't taste good even though it was one of my favorites. i can't have enough to drink tonight. still thirsty even though i feel fat and bloated.

tomorrow is another day.

hopefully i'll be myself again.

fuck it

i guess i lost

living with the living

hate to say it but not much is going on these days. it's the lame duck weeks of summertime. right when you know school is coming and that there's not time really to get much done. not like i've done terribly much anyway. well, aside from traveling for a week. and yeah, that was big. but if you break it down, i live a boring life at home. this we knew. no reason to talk about it.

i'm gonna try and - whoa, there's a commercial on tv with a bunch of fat women walking around in underclothes. all the fruit guys just came on. wow. you know, from the underwear people. sorry, that one, especially set to ted leo, caught me off guard. - expose myself more often to those things that get me excited, giddy, those special albums and movies and whatever. i want to feel that way more. hopefully schoolwork and work work won't be so bad this semester and i can get the free time to relax. i think our building has a slanted roof. that's not cool. polo is flat, though. i want to see more sunrises. i should be out running this summer but it's just so damn easy to find excuses not to. oh well, i'll be out of shape for a little bit longer.

do you know that i haven't said anything yet? i'm sure you've noticed. it's hard, sometimes, when you want to write just to get words out, just so you're not officially dead yet. hard to say something transcendent like i want to so fucking bad. like the first time you sat back with your eyes closed and listened to jeff buckley's hallelujah. something like that. maybe someday i'll be in a position to do that more often. that's my all-time favorite phrase - "maybe someday". have you noticed? that's kind of sad, isn't it?

i'm a loner. i don't know how far that will get me. my favorite times at home are probably these, late at night alone in the dark. that or alone during the daytime when i can plug into my amp and dance around with the guitar rattling the windows and singing. yeah, i bet you with you were a fly on the wall for those times. it's worth it, i swear.

ever since it got syndicated, there's been a lot of scrubs on tv. great show for a lot of reasons but also interesting because even though it's a sitcom, i know there's a lot of truth to it. i think it's easier to see when you're looking at being in the same position someday. i think about how difficult it must be to see patients like that all day and make decisions that end in life or death. so i figure i may well just try and be a surgeon. at least then you know what your job is. but there's so little interaction with the patients. and what if you sneeze? one slip of the hand and you've gone and kilt someone. i can't help but see a major artery rupturing and the innocent woman bleeding out on the table. it's hard to not blame yourself. it's hard to always believe you're the man... and i guess you have to. at the same time, maybe i'd rather be there than in some mundane clinic or pharmacy all day long, all week? i have no fucking clue. it's scary.

i figured out why this book i'm plowing through is so displeasing. it's style over plot. i hate it when authors do that. this is why i never read books where the author's name dwarf's the book title. this guy won a pulitzer? you've got to be kidding me. every two lines, there's a simile or metaphor. only about a third of them are amusing, like they all try to be. the rest are just heavy or too-far extended. too obvious that he's writing to be amusing and not to tell a story. it doesn't come off as funny or lighthearted. here's an example:

Berko salts an egg and bites it. His teeth leave castellations in the boiled white.

shit like that. you know what i mean. unnecessary as sterilizing a lethal injection needle. shit like that. you know what i mean. especially after zen and the art. maybe i should have just gone ahead and read cat's cradle (up next). at least i know that's going to be a quality read.



i can only see nine lights from where i'm sitting. the computer in the next room is reflecting all over the ceiling and the door frame. the new call light is flashing red on the phone. it's amazing to me. we've had that phone for years now, two? three? and that light has been flashing twice a second for that entire duration. it seems like every now and then, we should need to replace a bulb. also, the message light is on but meaningless. there's a tiny red led on the tv telling me - as if i didn't know - that it's on. further proof can be seen in the characters making faces on the screen. kramer's eating chicken. either it tastes terrible or is too hot cause he spits it back in a big bowl. makes hand signals. jerry looks incredulous. there's a power light on the dvd player, another tiny red led, but it's saying the machine is turned off. go figure. there's a couple little symbols and the time lit up in green on the dvr. of course, my laptop is making bright music. i can barely see the glint of an upstairs light off the hanging brass frame of a lantern in the foyer. come to think of it, i check the floor and the transformer on the power cord of my external hard drive has a green power light, too. i can only imagine the sounds i'd hear if it weren't for these headphones.

there's a large poster of bob sitting upside down and facing away from me across the room. blown up from a black and white photo taken around the mid-sixties. bob's looking down and embarrassed to have a photo taken, standing in a studio, harmonica around his neck, playing a fender bass. i wish i was bob. me and god knows how many others. actually, i just wish i'd taken the picture. images like that are why i love photography so much. it's why i hate posed pictures. it's why i keep entertaining the thought of buying a film camera and making the effort to use it. yesterday afternoon, i was playing around with the color accent on my little digital camera. it's just a gimmick, but it's fun. takes a color you define and makes it glorious in a photo, turns everything else b/w. i stood out in the sunlight and set the default to my hair color. took a portrait like that. looked like i had a halo or something. aside from being basically cool, i noticed today that it's really a portrait. camera must have decided to use a low f-stop. there's a pretty sharp focus drop between me and everything behind me. i like that a lot. wish i could make it do that more often. i guess if i had the old canon ae-1 i keep looking at on craigslist, i'd be able to do it for myself. maybe someday.

maybe someday.

it's always for you

know what's strange? i have a decent amount of confidence in myself in only one thing. i feel like i can communicate with people pretty well. which is to say, adults like me. young people too, for the most part. still, there are times when my heart stops. when my first reaction is to tense up, stop the bleeding, think in the middle of the act. why i can't just relax, i'll never know. when i have no words, whatsoever, at all, ever again. i guess that's what alcohol is for.

what is odd about all this is that i'm not confident in anything else. i don't believe i can do anything else well. i can't write music or play soccer anymore. i can't ride a bicycle or answer phones in a secretarial way. no way in hell could i ever wait tables... and yet, aren't you supposed to wait tables when you aren't smart enough to do anything else? speaking of grown people here. it can't be that hard. dull people are everywhere doing things i can't see myself being able to handle. i can do schoolwork, that's all. and it scares me to death that i faxed in a resume for a job at an orthopedic surgery clinic in winston. maybe i'd answer phones, check in patients, interface with insurance companies, help the doctor... whatever. i can't see myself being able to do any of that well. i don't know why. it's a part-time job being offered to undergrads. what was it happened to me to make me so insecure? i'll figure it all out someday.

actually, the funny part is that i can imagine this all being rooted in one thing. i don't even want to say it for fear of being dumb and pitiable. it's a wonder what being loved will do for you.

the easiest people to love are the ones you've never met. they are without flaws, the embodiment of all that you find wonderful. usually movie stars or musicians. at least in my experiences, anyway. the musicians are the best because you don't fall in love with the image of them. you fall for what they sing, how they do it, the idea of them. then, in my shallowish case, assuming they are at least of average appearance, it's love.

i look forward to that. i really shouldn't. one thing i've been reading lately that i believe is that there is no mountain peak without the mountain sides. it's better to enjoy the climb than to simply strive for the top. however, the sides are defined by the top, so we keep going. the key is to appreciate the journey that we take. funny thing is, someone told me that a long time ago but i never listened. too focused on the future. does it make me a terrible person for not being as hurt by our distance now that it looks like she's gained weight? i never claimed to be perfect.

just in love. stalkerishly in love. i'm moving to the very center of the country.

one thing i think i can do is ride a motorcycle. i don't know why i feel like i can do that and nothing else. why should i be more afraid of checking in a patient than riding a cbr600 or cb500 or speed triple in the dark? i'm much less afraid of anything i can do alone. i play guitar alone. i sing alone. i dance alone. if i had someone sitting right behind me on the bike, it would probably be a different story. i still have that glorious silly dream of riding around at night just because i feel like it. out in the dark. slow. cool wind. i have a nickname for myself during those times. easy tiger. it happens also to be the new ryan adams album that i haven't listened to yet.

do you know how high i'm feeling right now? in fact, i don't think my body can take it. i can feel the heat creeping up my spinal column into the medula. i can feel my medula. is that strange? no drugs. just music and life and people and dreams. that dream of the motorcycle. pirsig was dead on when he spoke of riding in a car like watching tv. all frames of reference and windows and it's boring and saddening and angering if you endure it long enough. when you're on a motorcycle, he said, you're in the world itself, not just choosing to watch it or not. you face the wind, feel the temperature, can reach down your toe and touch the pavement blurrily passing by. you're there and it's real. it's a meditative experience. it's freedom. it's also safer, hourly, than riding a horse. who knew?

i couldn't be happier with the idea. the bike. the music. the musician. if i could feel this every day, life would never pass me by.

the island

the lighthouse is working again. i stood out here last night on the porch and timed it. for a long while this afternoon and every now and then throughout the week, it's been deathly still, more resembling a photograph than i'd like. even when we visited, we had to shoot our pictures from the outside because it lay dormant. it's alive now, though, silently sweeping across the bay here in st. george's. silhouetted nicely by rooftops and cruise ship smokestacks. the lights are staggered into 5 and 10 second intervals, which i find pretty odd. either it's intentional and a way to let ships know which lighthouse it is - an archaic feature to be sure - or one of the three lights are out, leaving a 120 degree discrepancy between the flashes. just now an airplane banks over it to land.

i'm in a good mood. quiet and contemplating, but content. there aren't any mosquitos out. the humidity isn't bothersome. the ambient light is dying but the light behind my head is compensating for it. reggae and soca - or island music in general - is tripping and echoing over the rooflines from the town square, partying with the ships, celebrating the first day of Cup Match. in a couple minutes we will be leaving to spend the last of our fake cash at the fancy restaurant and bar a couple hundred yards away.

my legs go dead like this, propped up on the table while i lean back in a dark green plastic chair. i was reading a while back and had to get up every now and then. it's a good opportunity to simply stand and look around, observe the bay, something i've spent ample time doing this week. i feel like it's something people should stop to do more often, observe. something to practice. also makes for good time to let zen and the art sink in a little. that book just puts me in a good mood. maybe it's the philosophy that i actually understand. maybe i just like the contrast it makes with the gossip girls novels lying around. who knows. i'm glad to be only halfway through.

when i walked inside and back out again, i was barefoot. i noticed that, without really trying, i was being as quiet as possible. i liked that. felt like it fit my mood. it reminded me how much i want a thought recorder. so many times, especially recently, i feel like i've lost wonderful opportunities to put words to paper. often, it's just a single phrase that runs through my head. one line in a never ending narration, but one that sets me in the perfect mood to unload all that burdens me. maybe someday.

there is one burden i haven't forgotten. the lonesome late night bus rides from hamilton remind me, fill me with wonder. how wonderful would it be to have someone to hold on to? i guess it also is rooted strongly in taking a trip with three other singles and two couples: an open one and a secretive one. whenever i go off alone, i'd love the option to wander around together. dark bus rides with a head on my shoulder. i wonder why it's always the same people who come to mind. i w0nder why it's always the wrong people who come to mind. i wonder.

oh well, dinner calls.