sorry kids, today's post will not be that funny. if you want funny, i'm afraid you'll have to leave. i'm about to embark on a long-winded and boring (boring!) self-indulgent roadtrip filled with my usual peppering of semicolons and expensive words. i wish my life were as entertaining as Blue Crush, my friends... i really do... because if i looked even remotely like Kate Bosworth i would spend unending and torturously erotic hours just staring at my naked body in the mirror (taking 10-minute breaks every hour on the hour to stretch and re-hydrate). unfortunately, though there's no doubt in my mind my acting would put hers to shame, i look nothing like Ms. Bosworth. alas, i'll just have to continue to look at my own naked body in the mirror for sexual inspiration, all the while thinking 'i could do better, i could do better, i could do better'... jumping on my own grenade, you might say.

i do hope at least some of you get that. i find it terribly funny....

but i've got Joy Division on the box today, and i'm feeling kind of nostalgic, and, like i said, today's nostalgia ain't too funny. as those who know me can attest, i was much, much cooler when i was younger (and listening to Joy Division) than i am now (still listening to Joy Division but really listening to Joy Division now, man, you gotta really listen to it). yea, yea, yea and all that useless silliness... it's trite. good heavens, is it ever trite. oh boo hoo for me, life is so gosh darn difficult! oooooo i wish i were back in school, life was sooooo much better then! i want to slap my dad in the face when he says dumb shit like that but, fuck, i feel that way today. that's why i'm glad i'm completely running away from this place this weekend. i need some goddamn time to think. some goddamn peace and quiet, more like it.

i'm heading up to the hills which, for me, means it's time for a little corporeal mortification and chemical reconstruction. these trips have become more and more rare now that Pete's gone and got himself all respectable like, but the purpose has always been the same; re-centering through self-centering. i know in my heart that i won't be happy until i'm driving home, sweating and stinking to heaven, screaming mountain music at the very tippy-top of my lungs, half-naked, stoned to the be-jesus-belt on the good luck K-Bear, dodging the police, and really living it up for a change.

first and foremost, i'm getting tired of the fabulously tiresome back and forth with a major role player in my life (those that have graciously humored my ramblings throughout the past year will know the details of that particular story, and for that i thank you kindly for putting up with it.... notwithstanding your paparazzi bloodlust for my drama, you vultures, you... you know i love every bit of your attention). i'll spare you the details. the devil's in the details....
irrational love is the wailing baby in church; it's impossible to ignore, but no one knows quite what to do with it. instead they all continue to obediently murmur the appropriate things at the appropriate time wondering when, oh when, the crying will stop. goddamned if you can do a thing about it.

ah what timing! here's to you mr. curtis!

when routine bites hard
and ambitions are low
and resentment rides high
but emotions won't grow
and we're changing our ways; taking different roads...

ug. i'm too old for these devotional games.

but, believe it or not, that's just a minor threat to my overall well-being (thankfully, my foundation is in no danger of crumbling from such quiet tremors), other events have transpired to creep beneath my stony facade and scrape away at the tender nerves inside.

anne got married. sweet, merciful christ, she went and got married.

Reckless tortured me about that the whole weekend i was at home because basically i've endeavored to spend no less than my entire life attempting to fall in love with her, but not quite making it all the way. what's unfair is that i really loved what she embodied in my life; she is the avatar of an age when Reckless and i ruled over all drooling, virginal beauties who oh-so-willingly stripped down to their/my undies for a quick dip in the pool, or crept into the sauna
for a glistening, look-but-don't-touch oh-go-ahead-and-touch-me moment of innocence that was anything but innocent. anne was Treetops, she was Bullet, she was 88mph on mem drive, she was Strummer and Setzer and bulletproof glass dice in fiery melted pools on the studio floor. anne was summertime at shoop and nighttime beneath the stage.

all the things that i've tried to recreate knowing full well such things are destined to remain in memory, these things have been wrapped neatly and put away for a future generation now that i've seen her with her husband.

i'm sad there aren't times like that anymore; times when i didn't have the courage to follow through with anything substantial, because the anticipation of most things has left me, and the self-assuredness that has come to replace it leaves nothing to my overactive imagination. the impulsiveness that was my company through darker days has given way to my grown-up sense of inevitability. all things that ought to happen will happen, and only in imagination do surprises really even exist.

but i don't want to sound too nihilistic; i find post-modernism particularly distasteful because there is always something fantastic on the horizon. wrong turns take you to places you've never imagined existed... if finding my OMD cd after a year spent looking for it has taught me anything, it's that all dreams are realized in unexpected ways.

cheers all.

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