Knotty Thoughts

thinking under the influence

my sunken treasure April 21, 2010

[Tuesday April 20]
Laundry day brings clean clothes and reunions with guitar picks thought to be lost. Bus rides are welcome, giving me a solid time to catch up on comic books and soak in the energy of those with whom I share the earth. Each time someone asked me the date while writing a check or signing something at work I just smile and tell them it’s the twentieth of April, underground holidays are the best.

After a surprisingly busy day at work I spent the afternoon with my lovely Amy. I like her brain because it swirls around with mine each time we’re within eye shot and everything else melts away and we are kings of the universe! We break into tears at the sight of a dead creature and emit high pitched sounds at the sight of a live one. Even small little things like mister caterpillar, getting knocked over by the wind on the side walk.

We play in the garden (fuck being grown-ups!) and I show her the big fat cut I earned just hours earlier with a pair of scissors while trying to break down boxes. She just laughs and makes fun of me for my lack of finesse with a blade, it makes me wanna kick her ass! I threaten her and she’s so much smaller than me, but her eyes keep steady and she smiles. We’ll battle soon.

At some point in the quest for food and cigarettes Amy opens the trunk and starts making an excited high pitched sound. I know there’s not a cute little animal in there so my curiosity peaks. She comes to the window: ‘I still have half a half gallon of vodka in my trunk!!’
Just imagine my eyes getting real wide and my smile doubling: ‘FUCK yes! This day just got even sweeter!’ We light up and head to my place, tonight is gonna be good.

A holiday best spent with friends, we walk into the apartment quickly filled with excellent conversationalists and music in every room. Shot of vodka, shot of vodka, guitar, keyboard, singing. We should be writing songs for Dee Dee Bat, be we cannot focus. Amy wants to fight and I’m completely willing, but she’s so little! In the back of my head I’m afraid I’ll hurt her and then I feel guilty because we both know that’s the whole point and we both know all I need is a little more liquid encouragement. I owe her a couple hits in the ribs. She’s been working and going to school like crazy so it’s awesome that she decides to spend a chunk of her day off with me, and we’ll be making a trip to Seattle in May. I love this girl!

Earlier in the day a revolution brews in my brain. My notebook has been assaulted by mental gunfire as is evident by the ill prepared ink and sentence fragments wrecking the pages. I had to get all the thoughts down. A zine (an idea revisited thanks to a friend who recently put one together herself) based around finding our independence from governments and corporations in small ways with bartering and increased personal skill sets. It will be in print soon, I can feel the content bubbling up. I’m going to hand the first copies out at our vegan/vegetarian dinner on May 16th. Let me know if you want to come! Bring wine/drinks or coordinate with us and bring a vegan/veggie appetizer, dinner or dessert dish!

The remainder of the night was a swirl of advances, puppies, music and SLEEP. I hadn’t done that one in a little while.

[Wednesday, April 21]
Waking up a little hung over and sore did nothing to kill my instant joy today. I have to work soon, but it’s okay because all my clothes are clean. I’m hungry but we got groceries last night! It’s even healthy stuff! The sun is taking a little break, it rained all night. Everything is damp and heavy and I just wanna roll around in the world. Tomorrow we trek to Spokane for good company, laser tag and a punk rock show!

My thoughts are abundant, but steady, and my soul is absolute. Let’s do this mother fuckers!

 

caught in my eye April 9, 2010

I spend a lot of time trying to explain the inconvenience of  desk perching to Sean Connery the cat.  He walks on the keyboard, bats at the mouse, leaves awkward comments on Facebook and impairs my view of the monitor.  I have to commend his persistence, though, because no matter how many times I pick him up and relocate his fuzzy orange kitty body he always eventually returns to his favoured position, rubbing my face with his while big fat purs rumble in his chest.  He head butts my hand as it tries to click on things and gets eye juice all over my fingers.  God damn adorable little fucking bastard!

You know when you wake up with a pounding head, smelling like sweat with quarters stuck to your tits that you had a good night. If my life were a movie, which scenes from a Wednesday night adventure would make the final cut? :

[couch in a bar]
her: You’re drunk, I feel like I’m taking advantage of you.
me: Well…I’m on top, so that has to count for something.

I’ll have to take a break from being a great American party girl for a day or so considering the lack of funds, booze and patrons. My depression hates me for it, but my body is thankful. It seems today I will have to get creative and dig up some distractions that do not depend so heavily on the voluntary ingestion of poisons.

As visually based as I consider myself to be, I always find it more efficient to express my innards through words. The impact and clarity they lend really makes me feel my message is being relayed with the ever present possibility of reader by reader interpretation. Visual art, of course, contains the same properties but I find little finesse in my abilities there. I tend to combine the two and litter the world with confusing, not-quite-art pieces. It frustrates me a lot of the time, I just want to create something more subtle that lets the viewer really soak an image in without having their feelings interrupted by direct captions on the work itself. I want the words without the letters, I guess that’s what fashion is for.


I wonder if civilization will eventually build up higher and higher until it collapses in on itself and burns to a crisp. I kind of hope so and I hope I’m here when it goes down. I want to be a piece of the reconstruction, a bard and a trader because this isn’t working and we need something different! There is a pile of books that I haven’t picked up in a few years and I think I’ll be reading Anthem this week just to encourage my little bits of (unwillingly) sober social revolution.

Spitting is a terrible habit that has a strangely huge impact on my life sometimes. I spit constantly and I realize a lot of innocent bystanders find it to be rather disgusting. I don’t do it on purpose! I just have to get that crap out of my body or something. The other day I began to wonder what my face must look like while I use the power of internal suction to gather up all the phlegm in the throat. Not the most appealing images…


The bus stop outside of my work is on a busy street right in front of a gym. While waiting to pull into traffic I watched the shoulders of a welled toned, tanned, middle-aged woman flex and ripple as they worked smoothly to lift a water bottle to her lips and suck its contents down. I could feel the smoke from my cig burn my eyes as the cookies (later to be joined by tequila) settled in the pit of my stomach and the THC cuddled my blood stream. Here I was at 21-years spitting blood and chunky mucus into gravel while someone twice my age was in her physical prime just yards away, it’s almost enough to make a girl feel guilty like I’m not living this existence to the fullest. My overactive imagination corrected this for me: her clear, alert eyes detected an opening in the rush hour rat race and she turned into the street.

BAM!
A truck, a crash, a split second.
I was breathing still,
she was not.
I win.

If we’re gonna die, we’re gonna die (from our own arrogance) so we may as well take our time.

I do, at least, have an appealing torso.