solipsism is a closed system

He looks so uncomfortable and he keeps apologizing. 

There is a great bit in this interview about David Lynch where DFW talks about his first time seeing a Lynch film. He says the film came at a time in his life when he "needed" to see it.

That really hits home for me because I feel the same way about Infinite Jest. It changed the way I write.

I've been reading The Pale King for about a year now and I can be honest with myself why I haven't finished it yet--I just don't want the ride to end.

Spring

I realized something just now. I hate spring-- the season. Not because the oak trees are going to pollen and it's hay fever time. Although, that is a source of particular disdain.

Allow me to offer a song:

Layne Staley was extremely talented when he wasn't strung out on heroin. Anyways, there is a lyric in this song that goes:

"Into the flood again/same old trip it was back then."

I used the phrase "Into the Flood" as the title for the first actual novel I ever completed. The story was about a group of anthropology graduate students who discover a tribe in South America. This tribe possess a powerful hallucinogenic substance which is brewed from two very rare and endangered plants.
 

I later found out that this substance already exists-- fantastic. And then of course, Into the Wild became a movie and my catchy rock-and-roll reference title didn't feel so original anymore.

So I ditched the novel and moved on to other things.

But anyway, when I was writing the thing, I needed a cool sounding street name for the drug because it was just starting to get popular and there were these kids in Europe who were trying it and going on all these weird mental adventures. It was terrible. I decided to name the drug "Spring" because I figured one of the plants used to make the concoction would have been found growing near a spring with a very unique chemical compound in the water...

This is all rather ridiculous and besides the point. The word "spring" now carries the burden of that novel for me. It's not the reason I hate spring but it's one of those little things that just kind of pecks in on the surface of my face--like oak pollen. 

Enter this:

I've heard about it but I've never actually heard it. I've been listening to a lot of music lately. 

This brings me to why I hate spring. 

We're fucking animals. We're supposed to be outside, rolling around in that/\shit. Being cooped up, doing work, pushing papers, reading other people's thoughts, stressing out...this is not natural. Winter takes it's toll on the human being. We're supposed to get out and go crazy in spring--bloat up on nuts and berries and salmon and go around making other little humans. 

Not gaze vacuously at a computer screen for eight to twelve hours a day.

It's such a shame that spring is the time of year when school really gets cracking. Whenever I steal away from the concrete nook where I do my homework, I peek through my blinds like a convict, conspiratorially watching the normal day-goers passing back-and-forth by my windows. 

I hate the person that school makes me. I am remembering now why I dropped out originally. 

Not saying I ever would again. I have goals this time.

But anyways, this ramble has gone on long enough. These strange little rants are amusing to me but not worth much in the long run. I suppose it's always good to write.

Now fall--that's a different story altogether

hypersomniac

I love sleep. It really is the greatest thing ever. I would sleep all day if I could. 

I wake up on a Saturday morning, hearing something in the muffled distance that reminds me I'm here and not home. Everything comes rushing back in and I loose my appetite again.

I stumble to the bathroom. Someone is practicing electric guitar at 11 in the am. 

I don't know why I'm trying to turn this into a fucking story. It's not a story--I just love to sleep. Waaaaay too much.

It's the dreaming thing. I love dreaming. Letting my mind take the controls and seeing where things end up. 

When I return to my room, without thinking, I'm back in bed, burrowing under the covers and pillows.

This is very hard to crystallize, if only for myself...it's strange that dreaming can feel more real than being awake sometimes. I'm a little bit scared by that.

Or maybe it's just that I want it to be real so bad that reality becomes too painful.

Enter the void

Visually, this movie is amazing. Story wise...eh.

The opening credits sell the whole thing though. It really gets crazy around the 1:07 mark. The movie has a tough time living up to such intense standards.

It's on Netflix--check it out if you like things that are pretty.

The only post I can muster over spring break '12 (and it makes little sense too)

I'm sitting here at the Oak Hill regional library, leeching wi-fi and trying to calm the butterflies in my stomach. In two hours my band will take stage for a four hour show for a bike week extravaganza in New Smyrna.

I misunderestimated the physical effort required to play percussion (bongos, congos, etc.) My arms feel like they weigh about a hundred pounds a piece from yesterday's practice. I am still a little iffy from last weekend's camping trip w/ ms. molly. And my friends are trying to get me to hang out with her...again!

No.

I'm getting too old I fear. More responsible.


It's strange hanging out with people you love and feeling like an outsider. School has a way of putting things in perspective--like the spider bite on my ass from running naked through the woods in the middle of the night, howling at the moon like a madman. No one else understood why I disappeared for an hour into the balmy mist that evening. No one else understands that I needed to be baptized by the forest. Even my sober self has difficulty understanding it.

But I am capable of understanding how they grew concerned in my absence. How they feared I was passed out in a ditch somewhere.

Still

I feel selfish...

Sprung Break

So magically full of base camping bliss and brilliant times. As soon as this bio test is over, life begins. This is basically all I can think about right now, except for the usual stuff like eating and sleeping.

I don't claim rights on that^^^


My parents got rid of their internets a few weeks ago because Mom said it was too distracting. I'm kind of looking forward to a week w/out nets, tho I'm sure by the end I'll be seeing the Facebook logo when I close my eyes.

Hopefully no internet=more writing.

Dat Brass

Seriously though...that brass line...that is some funky stuff, Frankie--despite the vaguely misogynistic undertone of the lyrics. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't going to be listening to this song while I'm working on the ending for "Lady Luck."

Spiders

wait for it...wait for it...waaaaait!....chorusgasm!

This brings back some good memories...I lost several frequencies of hearing at a Wilco concert.  I don't miss them.

I think I will always be a little more fond of Wilco's avant-garde stuff. Jeff Tweedy's lyrics just lend themselves to crazy freak-out break-downs. And Nels Cline plays the guitar like a piano.