mood: silly

This pumpkin pie Blizzard from Dairy Queen is awesome. 

I love writing journal entries like this because I think I gain some bizarre kind of glee from knowing that somewhere, someone's time was wasted reading my insignificant postings about Dairy Queen Blizzards. Suck it.

Sometimes, small things occur in my life that are symbolically significant to me. The second-most-recent one happened while I was working at The Convenience Store. Early in the morning, perhaps around nine, a woman came in and bought a drink, I think it was a Coke. She paid and smiled and said, "Thank you, I hope you have a wonderful day." I was taken aback because that sort of remark is not typical of The Convenience Store's crowd. More like a truncated, "Thank-" as the door slams shut behind them.

I smiled in return and thanked her, wishing a similar day on her, and then went about my business. My business, by the way, is sitting behind the counter reading because there isn't anything else to do. So, I am reading (about dinosaurs) until around noon or one o'clock, when business starts picking up. There was a lull in activity, so I sat down to read, when suddenly the same woman reappeared.

"Have you had lunch yet? Are you hungry?"

I had not eaten, but I suspected she was going to give me food and I didn't want to deprive her of her own food, so I said, "Yeah, earlier."

"I have half of this BLT from First Watch, do you want it?"

A gift. Fuck.

"Uh...sure! Thanks a lot."

"No problem. Bye!"

I was shocked by her selflessness and compassion. People never do that kind of stuff, at least for me. That was the first experience I had had with a complete stranger giving me something after only meeting me hours ago, purely on the basis of kindness.

That was significant.

I also look for symbolism in actions, much like one would in an English class when reading a novel. 

Lately I have been somewhat depressed. Fifteen minutes ago I decided to take a shower, which was mildly significant to me because being covered in water is supposed to represent a change, hopefully positive. So, when I'm depressed, I look at showers as helpful things for reasons other than personal hygiene. Anyway.

Before I left my room to shower, I laid out the clothes I plan on wearing - they are behind me at the moment. I laid them out in a manner that would suggest they were human - t-shirt beneath a long-sleeved shirt, pants at the bottom with underwear inside. Socks at the feet. It looked human, to a point.

For those of you who do not know, I hate fashion. I think it is utterly insane and not worth noticing and that time spent looking for brand name clothes and a new pair of shoes despite already having several is time wasted. The prices of clothes are outrageous and, just in general, I dislike the whole thing. I have not bought new clothes in at least a year. Sometimes my mom buys me pants for Christmas, but otherwise, that is all.

Anyway, I laid out these clothes and looked at them for a long time (longer than I should have, anyway). They suggest a human form, but are not because they lack, of course, a human inside of them. But every now and then I glance to the side and see them out of the corner of my eye and think a stranger is wearing my clothes and laying on my bed. I am not my clothes. I am not my clothes. I am not my clothes.

I stood in front of my outfit, which seemed to look at me in relative comfort and calmness. I saw myself inside of it and learned a little more about myself than I knew before. What people see when they look at me, what they may think, and what I may think.

Methinks I like myself a little more, for some reason. Not because of what I wear, but because I saw myself from another person's eye. Weird shit, man.

From a story I tried to write last year. Might continue posting parts of it. I feel like that would force me to revise it.

"At approximately 9:37 AM, a giant lizard appeared in the middle of 14^th street. The first individuals to see it were on the SRTS, the Standard Relay Transportation System, known colloquially as “the bus.” The first noise to be made was issued from the mouth of Rita McCullough, a woman of about sixty who, upon staring out her window and finding the view to be blocked by the golden scales of a two-story high lizard, opened her bright red lips wide and screamed. As soon as the strangled screech struggled its way into life and climbed high into the sky, the screams of the less observant passengers soon joined it on its flight, and before long the entire bus was alive with the sounds of panic and discord. The tires squealed and the bus roared forward, speeding into the busy intersection with reckless abandon. Of course, it really didn't have to worry about being hit by other cars – a similar scene as on the bus was being played out in each car nearby, whose occupants were similarly panicked at the sudden appearance of the gargantuan creature, and as such had assigned to their feet the duty of either running or flailing wildly as they attempted to run. Amidst the screams, the lizard licked its dark amber eyeball languorously and seemed to exhale a great breath, as though the burden of its appearance were a great one and taxed it heavily."

I drove home with the mist and the stillness of night tearing across my car, the roar of the air conditioner my only companion. Now Chopin is drifting through my ears and with each strike of those black and white keys I feel myself calming, centering. I like to think that each of his little trills is the physical representation of the butterflies one often feels in the stomach. Looking back on that sentence, it is strange that I consider that a "physical" action, as it is certainly audial, but I think I see music as more concrete and physical than perhaps it lets on.

Tonight I went to CYAC and saw their production of the Blob once more. Enjoyable a second time - the music was just as catchy as before, and CYAC as usual impressed me with its level of quality, both in the actors and the technical aspects of the show. Afterwards, I felt compelled to go to Books-A-Million and purchase a book - "Life's Journeys According to Mister Rogers." I think it will help with everything.

Last night I had a conversation with a friend via Facebook. He, like myself, is a bass player. Unlike me, he is studying music in college and went to a college out of state to pursue that interest. Talking to him always reminds me of the Uncle Ben scenes in "Death of a Salesman." He seems to have reached a pretty decent degree of success, or at least is doing what he loves and enjoying himself. This always depressed me - that he gathered up the courage to do what he loved regardless of the return of his investment. I told him as much and he responded in a very flattered manner and thanked me for my words.

He then went on to tell me that he and his peers are basically majoring in unemployment. That really helped put some aspects of my life right now into perspective. Here we have a guy that, for all intents and purposes, is me. He has been playing bass for a longer time, but we have similar styles, motivations, inspirations, and so on. The only difference is that I chose not to pursue something I love. And I do love music, and I love creating it. Not studying it in school will never be indicative of a lack of motivation or pull towards the art. I just cannot justify it in terms of the future. But I digress.

For the longest time I have thought he has been living a decent life, enjoying himself and being happy and getting what he needed to do done. To be told something like that was like someone erecting a brick wall right in front of me as I walked down the street. I smacked into it headlong and had to back up a bit to see just what the hell I had hit.

It's all so simple sometimes.

mood: okay

Only five of you need to complete this, so just post a comment saying you filled it out. That prevents anyone from having to take it that doesn't need to.

http://www.surveymonkey.com/s.aspx?sm=WJzmcg10yhe77q7XAbB_2f4w_3d_3d

Much appreciated.

mood: I do say!

One day in the transit I watched a homeless man and woman argue over five dollars. In the background, another man was doubled over, vomiting up the $1.05 he spent on alcohol. Sometimes the universe likes to give those who watch a very brief moment in time, impressionist-like, to throw their lives and the lives of others into stark contrast. Or to illustrate a point, or perhaps just to make you look at those nice flowers on the ground with the tire treads running through them. They aren't bleeding yet because that's a separate painting. Rainwater swirls at your feet as a car passes and you want to write a symphony about the gasoline mixing with the water. A bass interlude. It would go, "Baaahba! Bahdahbaaah biddybiddy." And then the moment is done, the symphony is written. The sickness is splattered all over the cobblestone street. Chunks of what sitting in the sun.

TOMORROW I GET TO LEARN ABOUT SOCIOLOGY, GEOLOGY, HISTORY, AND PHILOSOPHY.

Tiny fists from the sky pound my windshield, and it is with heavy metal that I fight back. Lightning blinks across the sky and I feel the static burn my nerves, curl my lips involuntarily. The slick, newly-paved road is a seal's back. Knife blade Corolla slices the spine, splits the skull. A flood of sepia-tones as fog rolls across my vision for a moment, and Will o' the Wisp headlights far behind me tempt me away. My hands are at nine and twelve, strangling the wheel, choking the life out of the storm. Veins of water run down the hood, weeping.

Cry.

mood: calm

My favorite weekend was "Silly Songs Weekend," where they played completely absurd music that had nonsensical lyrics. Dr. Demento, Lonnie Donegan, stuff like that. "Does Your Chewing Gum Lose Its Flavor on the Bedpost Over Night" was a personal favorite, as was "Funny Farm." Off to Napster I went, and my next musical obsession was, yes, parody/funny music.

Needless to say, I loved (and still do) Weird Al to the very core of my soul, and remember preaching to the confused kids at my school that he was a genius because of the lyrical content of his songs, and how perfectly he molded popular songs into things that were Less Than Serious. Nobody really gave a shit, I was in like the third grade or something.

Eerily enough, I actually ran into a band that was foreshadowing of things to come. One day I found a track called "Evil One" by a band called Venom, and decided that it was the absolute scariest music I'd ever heard and didn't listen to it again for several years.

And then, I met Chris Marti. I have come to believe that it is from this singular entity that my entire modern musical taste spawned and grew. It was Ozzy first and then Rob Zombie and Helloween and The Misfits and Marilyn Manson and Danzig and then Venom (I remember freaking the fuck out with him when I found "Evil One" again - what a kick ass song) and black metal in general. Just a lot of metal getting passed around, really. Sometime around eighth grade I also decided to play bass after his encouragement (and also the inspiration he provided, playing a mean bass guitar himself).So, I owe you a shit ton of thanks and gratitude, Chris. You've given me more than methinks you know.

SO! That's my favorite Robbie story to tell and the basic outline of how I came to be what I am, musically-speaking. Hearing the story of what people first listened to and what got them into other things is really inspiring and interesting to me, and as a result I encourage anyone reading to write about their own experience. So do it. Even if I don't know you or no longer know you. +D

Music's the best.  The end.

MUNESH?!

WHERE DOES THE BEAT START, BITCH?!

mood: uncomfortable

The result of this strange circumstance, which really came about before all of that happened but still close to the four o'clock point, is the following that I wrote down in a sleepy haze.

"It is enduring and rather disturbing to me that, despite years of abuse by its' inhabitants, the Earth continues to inspire and awe us with its' natural beauty.

But, you might say, 'beauty' is a term defined largely by the individual, whose concept of 'beauty' is determined by a distinct paradigm created in part through personal aesthetic value and societal influence, making it impossible to assume that 'beauty' is a blanket-term used by every human.

If you are one of those people, shut the fuck up and just watch the sunset."