maybe i should switch to harmonica

some people are born to play guitar, some--not so much.

see my fingers are small and chubby, i have tiny bones and a little too soft meat on them. so i can't even press down a string before i kill myself. not to mention my lack of long term--or short term--memory. the fish in the ocean remember stuff longer than i do.

so it was a dumb decision from the get go, but still, i had always wanted to play the guitar so i forced my cousin to teach me a few things last night. my index still hurts that soft spot right by the nail, it's all dry and uber sensitive. can't say i embrace a whole lotta talent, i'm no jimmy page, i'll give you that. what i do can say though, is i suck. but it was still so much fun. and i almost kinda sorta got the first part of jingle bells by the end of the night.

then i came home after midnight and put on my the other side of the mirror and watched a few clips--esp the one where Zimmerman can't get the guitar to sound right and Joan just bluntly declares that "maybe it doesn't do anything", to which he replies, casually, "oh wow. maybe it doesn't tell a story."

so maybe my guitar won't tell a story. not in the near future at least. but the moment i get my hands on some cash, i'm getting me one of those devils.

ps: last 60 pages of the idiot. poetry time for a bit after that--then Kerouac in his best.

ps*: tomorrow, we're having a house gathering with the gals. yummster.

it's a single L

so, literally spent my last money on books. over the course of two days, i bought eliot, thomas and of course, my loving kerouac (the town and the city). been reading eliot all night, and it's just...it made me cry the other day, when i was reading him for the first time, you know. so we get along good for now. i could give him more time, but myshkin needs to be finished and i still have about 200 pages to go.

not much else to say, still in the darker ends of times. spoke of broken hearts and betrayal and love and all that with friends today. my heart's kinda tired. "Out worn heart in time out-worn..." Right?

but, i would be cruel if i don't leave you off with a few words from eliot:

And I must borrow from every changing shape
To find expression...dance, dance.

feast of friends

so my down in the drains mood kinda got up with the unexpected return of a friend, i'll be meeting two of my dearests soon--my stomach's kinda unhappy about the whole thing but i'm hoping it'll man up. a bus ride in this city of mine may cause some unpleasant imagery, if it doesn't.

anyways--something that may at least help us comprehend humanity:

...

wow. wait a minute. this just rules.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QOGOumtU8to&feature=PlayList&p=0F91CA77BA6EE236&index=0

invitation and invention

go ahead, laugh all you want, but i have a strange feeling today. i missed jim. i'm not kidding, i was on the bus, late, sleepy and burning with heat; and bam--i missed him. and i've been feeling weird all day. so i thought i might as well post this here since this was the first clip of of him that made me feel curious about him.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2BUVK8-XyJA&feature=PlayList&p=0F91CA77BA6EE236&playnext=1&playnext_from=PL&index=9


i'm not on my best mood, i don't know why, maybe it is just because i missed jim.

...

i wasn't gonna post anything else for the night but i was browsing and came up to this and this--this had to be shared. or else it would have exploded inside of me.

fighting in the captain's tower

There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet.

T.S. Elliot

well that's what i call a loser

i'm back. but...i really don't feel like writing about anything anyhow.

...

i probably won't be able to write for a few days so i'll leave you off with this little fella:

keeping the word

i did promise you more thomas, didn't I?

Especially When The October Wind

Especially when the October wind
With frosty fingers punishes my hair,
Caught by the crabbing sun I walk on fire
And cast a shadow crab upon the land,
By the sea's side, hearing the noise of birds,
Hearing the raven cough in winter sticks,
My busy heart who shudders as she talks
Sheds the syllabic blood and drains her words.

Shut, too, in a tower of words, I mark
On the horizon walking like the trees
The wordy shapes of women, and the rows
Of the star-gestured children in the park.
Some let me make you of the vowelled beeches,
Some of the oaken voices, from the roots
Of many a thorny shire tell you notes,
Some let me make you of the water's speeches.

Behind a pot of ferns the wagging clock
Tells me the hour's word, the neural meaning
Flies on the shafted disk, declaims the morning
And tells the windy weather in the cock.
Some let me make you of the meadow's signs;
The signal grass that tells me all I know
Breaks with the wormy winter through the eye.
Some let me tell you of the raven's sins.

Especially when the October wind
(Some let me make you of autumnal spells,
The spider-tongued, and the loud hill of Wales)
With fists of turnips punishes the land,
Some let me make you of the heartless words.
The heart is drained that, spelling in the scurry
Of chemic blood, warned of the coming fury.
By the sea's side hear the dark-vowelled birds.

dylan thomas

"looking for peace"

this state of mind that i'm in is not an unhappy, grieved, resentful or angry or angsty or any of the bad ones, it's more of a matter of fact, day and night, light and dark one. it's not even necessarily sad, more like...homesick.

the feeling of being the wrong piece in the puzzle. i'm telling you, people, i could have worked out so pefectly somewhere else. I love where i am dearly, the people i have in my life, my family, my day to day habits...those make me who i am, i am in great desire to be with them. but there is also that loose end in my inner wells, a crack where the water leaks further away. i can't really explain it--not like you can ever explain anything good in life--but this want to be in another context is tiring and burdensome, but it is appropriate. it gives you a bitter smile, and a way of accepting your surrondings.

you can't escape yourself--or change who you are. i am happy to be who i am. i am happy, at times, to be where i am. other times...well, if other times didn't exist, times wouldn't have been enyojable, would they? but there is a void in there somewhere that can not and will not be filled by anything i have or will have. my friends and further friends--i love them dearly and life wouldn't mean as much without them, but don't resent me for telling you the truth--of which none of you have been capable of filling that void, or ever can, cause the void can and will be filled in an entirely different place and time.

don't sweat it, don't think to much. don't understand. i have many layers, i can present them all. you choose what you like, and i won't blame you for it. that's exactly what i do to you in return. i chose you all to fulfill something or another, it's just fair you do the same.

the day finally rolls around and like a man wrote once, whom i dearly love without ever meeting once, "a peaceful sorrow is the best i'll ever be able to offer the world..."

Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live
Or if I die.
William Blake

they sing while you slave...

...and i just get bored.

15 minutes

yay--got the other side of the mirror last night. soon i'm gonna put some coffee on and enjoy myself a night of good old zimmerman.

four letter word

i like this picture, not in resentful way, you know--i probably liked it just as much if it wasn't them. i think it makes you shiever which is a good thing.

you can't always get what you want

major itunes arranging tonight. have to get my stones and my beatles in line.

my back pages

so i had quite the dream last night.

i walk into this book store and there's an old guy in there--the bookstore is supposedly my fave one in town, but it's much bigger inside with isles and corners and secret rooms opening behind some of the shelves. anyways i start browsing, and i browse forever (i swear i did--haha i remember, ginsberg's howl was 46 dollars!) anyways finally i tell the old man that i'm looking for dylan thomas. he tells me that they moved the poetry section to the secret room, and he pushes one of the sections, and bam, there's a door. and a room--a dusty room with bunk beds, and books scattered all over. i keep searching for thomas, but no use. i finally go back home, with my arms full of books but when i get home, the books turn out to be cheesy, weirdo, disney plays.

so i took that as i sign and as of today, i'm starting a thomas phase. i had read this one in the states in one of the classes, so i guess since it's the first thomas poem i've ever known, it is only appropriate to quote from it:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

love you all.

know your fyodor

correct quote as i promised:

"I want to be there when everyone suddenly understands what is has all been for."--Ivan Karamazov

empty handed painter from your street

i'm back. a little lightheaded, but back.

let's see what i've learnt today--family matters. like it or not, dream of a land with no boundaries, or no roots, think of roaming the streets of whereever with whomever, even think of zimmerman's lap--it does not matter. family does. family holds you together. family survives.

second--this city is way too beautiful. you can put in a locked chest and just put it away so that no one would find it--that's how beautiful it is, how magical, how insanely adorable. move over the rest of the world, here comes the paradise city, it's always been there,and most likely will remain there. love it here. love this town. love the waters love the bridges love the fireworks and the stars and a thousand lights just shimmering all over.

third-- you know how Ivan says he wants to be there when everyone understands what it has all been for, or whatever--i'll get you the correct quote tomorrow. i think if anyone was to ever realize what has it all been for, it would be someone a little lightheaded of alcohol listening to a bob dylan song. thats where the secret lies, people, there inside zimmerman's words, inside the tones of his tongue and the knuckles of his fingers.

so here---to get you all understand--(my fave song of zimmerman)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wKuqOBMuPpk

good night lovers. hold on tight.

as a wedding wov

i'm killing time waiting for my nailpolish to dry--it's such a drag. and that incident New Jersey--i'm tryig to look through that. oh i just love people... i'm going of to a wedding tonight--now we all know how i feel about that.

will be back to report.

bye.

bright midnight

sorry, got sidetracked with no direction home!--so i'm done with both that and don't look back. i'll talk on those soon, i think. gotta swallow and digest first. (yeah bobby would love that)

see ya.

into the wild

"Depart with your pain," Fyodor claims from a far corner. He gets older, slowly, and only after forever comes around, he'll be an old man. He then snaps his fingers in front of me to get my floating attention back on him. "...Truth is higher than your pain."

I glance over at Carl, who smirks, and mumbles to himself, "There is no coming to consciousness without pain."

I'll be aroung here tonight, so expect some gibberish.

"Life -- Death & The lumberjacks are coming'"

Oh there's so much to talk about.

I'm back home. For good this time. I had really missed that feeling of being on your own turf, and i got out of the car last night and realized--for the first time in my life--the air smells different in the paradise city. I swear I'm telling you the truth, and it's not a bad smell--not of cheating and robbing and killing, something much different, something filled with anything, good or bad--life. the air in the city of mine smells like life.

I'm done with almost all the books--except the idiot, which i'll come around to it. i'm saving that for the last (don't ask me why.) My head's already crazy enough with Kerouac in the back, Dostoevsky in the corner, Dylan walking around with his guitar case and glasses. They're all trying to figure a way out of life, and i'm giving them full authority up there--maybe, if they uncover something, i'll get to see it then.

Anyways--oh by the way, I'm at the age of 20 now. I'm not celebrating my birthday this year, or the years to come unless i feel like i learnt something new, or met someone unique, or felt something i never felt before. i'm not counting the years anymore, but the experiences. I'm waiting for the laughing lions, they must come, right? we'll see how long that'll last...i really wasn't planning to say anything about the whole bday things, but this is like a recap of the past months, i suppose, so i let it loose. Moving on...

"But why talk," Nietzsche once wrote, "when no one hath my ears!" That I guess sums up my unfamiliarity to everyone in my life. I speak--too much at times--but I speak the part of me that appeals to their ears. Others, I can't spill out the way I want. I used to think it was my inability to explain, a whole summer taught me something else. There're ears everywhere, not that mine is better or worse than anybody's, they're just mine, you know. i like things that way. i accept things that way. and if somewhere, sometime, i meet people with my own ears, it'll be another day then. anyways (again)--

"why dont you learn to dance instead of looking for new friends? dont you know that all the friends have been taken?"--that was dylan, not Nietzsche, if it makes any difference.

One of the great things about the specialness of a birthday is that you do things that you haven't been able to do. Reading Tarantula for example. Yeap, we've been staring at each other for a long time now--me and Zimmerman--and i finally had the guts to take it in my hands. Can't say I understood much--but i saw so many things, you wouldn't believe it--all these images floated around and i had a conversation with him for better or worse. and i came across some of the most beautiful words i read in my life. and between the pig and the lawyer and the "destroyingly boring" man and arethe "with no goals, eternally single& one step soft of heaven" and all the rest, I found a few diamonds in the haze. I could talk about it all day, but it's a bit of a closed box, or it feels like it should be, like it should stay between me and zimmerman and no one else. You should know when to hush.

"how come youre so afraid to stop talking?"--good point.

you know what, if you put me to it, i'll keep rambling all day. i should start wrapping this up. "Catch Peter at morn--" Dostoievski speaks of an old proverb inside my head, a smile on his wise face, at the break of dawn of a rainy day, "if you give him the day to think, he'll begin to stink."

so long lovers.