What happens to these journal entries once they've been replaced by a new journal entry? Are they lost in SG limbo somewhere? I guess I can consult my own old jrnl pages but can I see other peoples?
Well anyway, slow day, nothing much happening. Took a train out to a mall (no car, see) but still couldn't get a tux with long enough sleeves. Hey maybe I should get some, y'know, sleeves-sleeves (you know what i'm talking about right?) and then who gives a shit whether the jacket fits? It would certainly give an edge to the tuxedo, but it's hardly going to happen in two weeks is it...?
Mmm, on my headphones today: Robin Williamson, Skirting the River Road (ECM, 2002). For thems as may not know, Robin used to be in the Incredible String Band and sings - in a broad Scottish accent - with this high, reedy, leprechaun-like voice. This particular CD puts readings poems by William Blake and Walt Whitman to a, ah, squirming, eddying music of harps, hurdygurdies, free-form saxes, scraped fiddles and the like. It's actually pretty good in places.
This one track, based on a poem by Whitman called 'West from California's Shores' reminded me of the stuff I've been reading about complexity theory since the poet/singer goes on about how the same mysterious cosmic process of organisation that's responsible for the rhythmic in-out of the waves on the ocean is also, somehow, responsible for the brain that conceives of it and the throat, the voice that sings of it. The Blake is similarly in this cosmic oneness vein. ('cept it ain't oneness is it, it's multiple...
What else did I do today? Phoned my mum, phoned my brother...
went to try and find the cruising park behind the train station I'd read about on cruisingforsex.com.
I think I found it - a steep path down to the river through a kind of garden (not really a park) behind a parking lot and barely shielded from the view of a couple of balcony bars.
Didn't seem to be any action, although there were a couple of probably-gay men sitting talking on a bench...
Not that I would have done anything anyway. I am, and this will become clear, a filthy little AC/DC slut in my head and a very timid little straight boy in my demeanour. But I'm working on it... (been working on it kind of a long time, though...)
Anyway, now i'm going to see Capturing the Friedmans.
Laters for your potaters.
crx
Well anyway, slow day, nothing much happening. Took a train out to a mall (no car, see) but still couldn't get a tux with long enough sleeves. Hey maybe I should get some, y'know, sleeves-sleeves (you know what i'm talking about right?) and then who gives a shit whether the jacket fits? It would certainly give an edge to the tuxedo, but it's hardly going to happen in two weeks is it...?
Mmm, on my headphones today: Robin Williamson, Skirting the River Road (ECM, 2002). For thems as may not know, Robin used to be in the Incredible String Band and sings - in a broad Scottish accent - with this high, reedy, leprechaun-like voice. This particular CD puts readings poems by William Blake and Walt Whitman to a, ah, squirming, eddying music of harps, hurdygurdies, free-form saxes, scraped fiddles and the like. It's actually pretty good in places.
This one track, based on a poem by Whitman called 'West from California's Shores' reminded me of the stuff I've been reading about complexity theory since the poet/singer goes on about how the same mysterious cosmic process of organisation that's responsible for the rhythmic in-out of the waves on the ocean is also, somehow, responsible for the brain that conceives of it and the throat, the voice that sings of it. The Blake is similarly in this cosmic oneness vein. ('cept it ain't oneness is it, it's multiple...
What else did I do today? Phoned my mum, phoned my brother...
went to try and find the cruising park behind the train station I'd read about on cruisingforsex.com.
I think I found it - a steep path down to the river through a kind of garden (not really a park) behind a parking lot and barely shielded from the view of a couple of balcony bars.
Didn't seem to be any action, although there were a couple of probably-gay men sitting talking on a bench...
Not that I would have done anything anyway. I am, and this will become clear, a filthy little AC/DC slut in my head and a very timid little straight boy in my demeanour. But I'm working on it... (been working on it kind of a long time, though...)
Anyway, now i'm going to see Capturing the Friedmans.
Laters for your potaters.
crx
portland is everything it seems to be, and so much more. its my favorite city on earth. i love it. however, here there is a sense of unfulfillment, like a lot of people come ehre looking for something, and the then lose sight of it. a lot of musicians and actors and artists... but its gorgeous, and fun, and young, and fresh.