15 April, 2005
at home he feels like a tourist

first thing to cut into my awakening mind was a rusty-dusty song by the BeeGee's, "Gotta Get A Message To You". for what became an extremely un-cool band to a proto-PunkRock philosopher, it was a nice melody... and mocked the dream i had just before dragging myself to consciousness. there's no thread to remind me of the goings-on, just the subject... the AstroGrrrl, the one that used to do the show before me on Friday.

NewOrder junkie after it was hip, PuffyAmiUmi junkie way before it was pop.
put O_ren Ishii/Sophie Fatale/GoG Yubari together, that's what she'd look like. spoke japanese. dressed like an anime starlet. graduate in astronomy. spent time at the observatory in Chile.

a missed rendezvous for the Buzzcocks show in Richmond, one for Interpol that didn't transpire.

it wasn't going to happen, maybe, but i recall smoldering looks and also the hug when we parted.

like the song said, "my skin... remembers".

all of this remembering and not doing, i believe, is my undoing. the shitty attitude, the prolonged shitty streak, shitty characters, comlete lack of physical human contact... hell, passion of any sort, is enough to make anyone's guts fall out. present company included.

running through my mind, too, is this unconscious Oath of Poverty that's been granted me, philosophically and fatefully. one step forward, six steps back... six steps back... six steps back.

maybe i'll never be rich, or even comfortable, if comfort means a suit and deceptions and imperiousness and a soul that's rotten on the inside. so i am not (so i still feel), as i sit here, alone but not... not the alone that you get when there's someone else in the room, that hasn't the slightest idea of what you're all about, and deflects opportunities to try. passionless, mentally and physically.

that's no way to live.

the way will present itself, i still believe.

and i believe i'll make my way to the Gang of Four show in DC... to see if they're still feeling it.

.