And it rains again. This time, in the city of angels.
Hanging out with Abe for a couple of days has been definite good times… I really felt like I had to get the heck out of Dodge after finals week finished. I was getting… restless and bored.
I’ll be arriving back on the Central Coast tomorrow, helping Kristen move back from her victory over the UCLA educational system.
Sigh. It’s finally over.
Finals week was a monstrous labyrinth. Fire, ogres, pain sticks, hot MAGMA!!! And I survived. With black hair, no less.
That’s right. Kristen helped dye my hair black. It’s pretty freakin’ cool.
Mom told me about the new Moby album coming out next week, and lo! and behold! Two hours later I have it! Tis pretty decent. Very 80’s new wave.
Now, I’m in that part of the year where it’s the all-of-a-sudden death stop. Going going going in class, and then STOP. I don’t want to do anything with my days, but I feel I should be doing something. Sigh…
It’s not so bad, though. Just rainy.
Every day this week I’ve felt
the cool steel of the Winchester.
My knuckles, white,
gripped hard over metal
and envied my innocent eyes.
on this dark morning
when the clouds cover us like taxpayer dollars,
a steady eye cannot be faulted…
If I fail, it is the trigger finger that should crawl away in shame.
So I walk past cherry blossom trees
and move straight to crimson roses.
I stop where I can get a
straight bead on the sky,
fill a chamber with verse
and let fly.
After a glancing shot, the sky bleeds the ground.
I find no part of my body innocent,
and in me, no remorse.
Consider this poetic justice:
In this world of blossoming black umbrellas
rotating swiftly in clockwork fashion
above the heads of the protected,
when a girl turns to her neighbor in the crowd
“the rain just kills me inside sometimes.”
I wish I was there to say back
“It seems like you’re always just waiting for it.”
And I carry my Winchester, sans umbrella,
down the street, turning right
and find the second house on the left.
I’ll sit down in my chair, eyes closed,
and just listen to the wounded animal in the sky above.
Today, I purchased a phonograph player from Dave. I figure that everybody else is doing up their music all digital-like, and so the new trend is to go hyper-analog. And that’s just what I’ve done.
I made my first record purchase today since I purchased Paul Simon’s Graceland back in tenth grade. Both of the Ryan Adams’ Love is Hell EPs have been floating circularly around my life these past few hours. These EPs are the new Rush of Blood to the Head, and just as good, if not better. Just listen to the songs “Political Scientists” or his cover of “Wonderwall” or even “World War 24.” My attention is a needle in it’s groove.
Another LP purchase of the day is Crowded House’s self-titled album… you know Crowded House… Don’t Dream it’s Over. The song that Sixpence None the Richer recently covered. It’s a pretty decent album, reminds me a bit of INXS, with a little less flair.
I am so tired.
Sun Tzu’s The Art of War. Sigh. Why Sun Tzu’s The Art of War?
It’s printing right now. No real problems, just a head cold and I’m here at the lab later than I expected.
Many of you probably have already heard the news: Enterprise has been canceled, and the last episode shows sometime in May. It’s sad, especially with how good this season has been, but I think I can say that as long as the new Battlestar Galactica continues, my world will still be complete. It’s tough to put into words just how good that series is. It’s like taking speed. Not that I would know, but I guess it’s like how I’d imagine taking speed. But yeah, BSG starts it’s second season this next summer.
And then the Goblet of Fire comes out this November. I read on SciFi Wire (thanks to my brother’s suggestion that I keep a close eye on that site) that the Weird Sisters, who are the band that play during the Yule Ball, are going to have members of Radiohead in it. This news pleases Kristen to no end, she’s the biggest Radiohead fan I’ve ever met.
Me? I’m fine. Still alive. The stomach flu has gone away, but is being replaced by a pretty killer head cold. I think my body’s ganging up against me.
This is what happens when I write on the whiteboard that I’m “the life of the afterlife” and that “it’s time to love myself all over again.” I just thought it was funny. Seriously.
Now I’m rambling.
Somebody smack me.