serenades of serendipity
dj infiniti is at it again. this is my latest musical compilation that i put together for my friend's xmas gift.
"don't tell her you saw me"
the other day i spent almost a day catching up with my friend, "r,"
who i haven't seen in almost two years. he ran out and skipped the country to teach english in japan and now he's back for a minute to stay in touch.
when we first met up, it was like a game show. we had so much to say and share that i felt our sentences were climbing on top of each other. i was able to multitask and manage comprehension of what i was saying and what i was hearing. it was as if we were afraid that time would run out before we could say all we needed to say before he'd have to go back to japan and we'd have to resort to stilted communication over intermittent email messages.
"r" wanted me to see documentaries that he had seen in japan, but wanted to watch with me so that he could see them anew and discuss them. we stayed up until 4am watching "the fog of war: eleven lessons by robert s. mcnamara."
we watched it and it confirmed my idea that the world is really run by a bunch of lucky fucks who get to sit around and make big decisions that affect people around the world, and all they go by is the imperfect science of, "oh... what the hell. i think this is this and that is that. let's do it!" so, japan gets fire-bombed and the US successfully kills more civilians than the atomic bomb. hey! they just had to start with the correct hypothesis that fire + wooden city = death and destruction
--compute! what a life to be a lucky fuckhead.
anyway, "r" and i start reminiscing and laughing about an old friend/sorta flame, "j" who i don't think ever wants to talk to me again. last i heard, my friend "m" had bumped into him at amoeba records in san francisco and he had told her, "don't tell (me, infiniti) you saw me." that same "m" saw another guy from my past who also had said the same thing. all in one year. it got to the point where it was too absurd and comical for ms. "m."
meanwhile, i'm wondering... what the hell did i do? i guess i'm not a candidate to be the ex-girlfriend guys want to be friends with.
if, as the dustin hoffman character in "i heart huckabees"
is right and that everything and everyone in the universe is connected--where you, it, they, that--are all parts of me and vice versa, then perhaps it follows that these exes are just trying to purge a part of themselves... ourselves that they no longer want. but if we're all interconnected, do i really go away?
all right. i must stop here. i sound like i'm stoned and philosophizing. i think i'd prefer to be drunk and philosophizing. i make myself laugh more that way. instead, i'm sober and scattered. ridiculous. end scene.
OCD'd: part deux
i just realized that i already blogged
about the fact that i stayed up until 7am working/dreaming on my screenplay. what's up with that? i guess i just can't get enough of writing about the same shit. just like i couldn't get enough about taking the same astrological quiz the other day. i'm so disconnected from one day to the next. i need to get some sleep right now, but i think my body thinks i should run around the block until 6.30am--my body's newly dictated sleep time. i still can't figure out my new alarm clock. too many buttons. i'm doomed to never be on-time for anything.
i wonder if i'll be reincarnated into a clock next time around. (no pun intended).
i've been overdosing on the pixies
for the last 48 hours. i was using it to pump me up during grueling nights where i had to stay up until 7.30am working on a screenplay for this workshop application. i guess had to comfort myself with "la la love you" during the moments when i thought my brain was going to mush. there was an interesting night (morning) between 7.30am--when i finally fell asleep--and 9am--when i finally heard my new alarm clock--that i dreamt the rest of the script. unfortunately, when i woke up, it wasn't transcribed onto my computer. my dream, of course, seemed more interesting than my actual finished product.
now, that i'm done, i'm still listening to the pixies and juggling 3 of their albums. i do this a lot. in order to curb addiction, i have to go all the way THROUGH it to finally kill it.
summer '96--one of my fondest memories of a summer--i was OCD'ing on nina simone. i actually went a few weeks listening to ONE song, "wild as the wind" on obsessive repeat. i was still a heavy smoker then, too. i remember just smoking out my bedroom window looking out into the tiny view of the street from the alleyway outside. actually, to see the street, i would have to lean OUT and to the LEFT a bit to see more than just the brick wall of the building next door. i would toss my cigarette butts down to the alley below until the day the landlord yelled up to my window and asked if those butts were mine:
landlord:(looking at a mess of 30-40 butts)
do you know whose butts are these?
uh... i don't know. ( i was an illegal tenant at the time. i would often have to pose as my roommate's girlfriend to excuse my constant presence in the building).
i know "t" had some friends over the other day. i think they smoke. (it's frightening how easy lies can come to you).
while i was saying this bullshit, i was holding my lit cigarette away from his view in my bedroom hoping that the conversation would end so i could finish it up and not waste the tobacco. after that day, i learned how to use an ashtray. sometimes, i miss smoking. but wait!
it'll kill ya.
i'll always have my memories (and the occasionally bummed smoke).
oh, but back to OCD'ing. before the advent of the burnable CD, i used to TAPE the same song in repetitive succession to avoid having to rewind. now, that's dedication. i should've made an OCD of depeche mode's "just can't get enough" as a joke gift. fantastic idea... i'll save it for the next christmas season.
still in my jammies
my sleep scheduled is screwed. i stayed up until 6.30am working on this screenplay short. i fell asleep around 7am dreaming that i was finishing it up. i awoke to my new alarm clock emitting "nature sounds." i woke up thinking, "why are there locusts and waterfalls in here?"
i got an odd email from some woman who i think was on my delegation to the world social forum last year. the subject line just said, "barrie"; the email body just said, "draftiest." i didn't even know that was a word. what does it mean?
it's raining really hard right now. maybe it's the end of the world. that just means one less tax day for this year.
out of the need to procrastinate and not work on my new story idea, i've decided to test the imperfect science of yet another online quiz on self-exploration.
apparently, i'm not myself. though a leo, i'm only:
|You are 33% Leo
i'm more scorpio:
|You are 53% Scorpio
with a healthy dose of sagittarius and capricorn at 47% each:
i tested only 33% gemini and 27% libra. after that, i really needed to stop myself. it was getting too ridiculous.
random acts of boredom
there are several permutations of the following exercise in spontaneity and chance (really, it's not that spontaneous if you're following these directions... it is chancy, though). i'm adding my personal touch by choosing a number i
like. let's try 83.
1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page
29 (ok, so i just changed my mind. what if someone doesn't have 83 pages in their book?
3. Find the
4. Post the text of the sentence in your journal...along with these instructions.
"Said Negro is five feet ten inches high, of dark complexion, he plays well on the Violin and several other instruments.
from: The Soft Cage: Surveillance in America From Slavery to the War on Terror
by Christian Parenti.
it's really a fantastic read. you get to find out how uncle sam was always
watching you. i highly recommend it. it will enrage and enlighten; it will awe and aggravate. it will disturb you, perturb you, and downright alert you.