*As the rare porterhouse and the fourth pint of Boddington's take hold, the boy decides to update his journal.*
I'm back from visiting Portland, my X and her fiance. It had the potential to be a bit awkward but managed not to be. We've both moved on sufficiently and it's plain to see that she's found something that we never had. We had something, for which I'm truly thankful and, frankly, a better man for having experiened, but it didn't hold a candle to what I saw this week. Theirs is the real thing. You can tell just by looking. I've got something to shoot for, now. I'm certainly a person who bandies about the 'L' word a bit too freely. Out of respect and sheer awe of the real thing, I think I'm gonna try to be a little more careful and exacting in my language.
So, 1st Thursday in Portland is a pretty cool thing. It was fantastic just walking around and checking out the new shows at the galleries. I may have seen about a dozen exhibits. Most were nice, though unremarkable, but there were a three or four that were quite good. There was just so much that trying to convey it all would be an exersise in masturbatory rambling.
I've been interviewing here and there lookng for a single sales and/or marketing position rather than the piecemeal work I've done for the last couple of years. I like the diversity of projects and the relatively open schedule, but (much as I hate to admit it) I need more structure than that which I've been able to provide for myself.
Things would be moving along nicely with except for the fact that the suits I ordered have yet to arrive. It took the sales rep in Montreal 2 weeks to call me and tell me that a couple of the swatches had been on backorder. Mind, he didn't contact me until two weeks after they were supposed to arrive. This may sound petty or yuppie - whatever. The fact remains that I've gone to a couple of interviews badly under-dressed. One of the people I interviewed with even mentioned it. I don't see myself getting that position. Presentation counts, and while I may be able to conduct myself as a professional, that's not worth a damn unless I look like one. Unfortunately, the appearance factor also precludes re-growing the beard I shaved at the beginning of summer. There's just no way to look good if you haven't shaved in a 7-10 days.
It's been a hell of a time, lately, but by some miracle, I'm still standing. There's been a break up, a diagnosis of bipolar, resumes, interviews, the anticipation of fine handmade clothing, and God knows what all else. I think the tattoo and piercing spree was just stress relief from all those things. I needed those few days in Portland. I can feel things evening out already.
A couple of questions-
Have you ever held and X, one of whom you are still extremely fond, in your arms and realized that they just didn't 'feel' right anymore - I mean in the physical, kinetic sense - actually feeling that the electricity isn't there anymore? Has that feeling ever yielded a sense of relief and closure that, previously, had not been present?
Is there a specific song that, when you hear it, catches you off gaurd and forces you to choke back tears, however irrational they may be? I've had a couple lately.
This week 'Someday' by The Strokes hit me like a recking ball while I was in a pizza joint. I don't think I'd ever even heard it before.
'Mr. Brightside' by The Killers almost got me, too.
A reccomendation-
The new DJ Krush album is excellent and doesn't make me cry. Take a listen if you get the chance. You do have to take in the whole album, though. Great stuff. Dark almost impressionist hip-hop beats juxtaposed with the occasional MC and other collected sounds. The guy's a legit artist. He's the first and only person who has shown me that hip-hop beats can be fine art. Dark, languid and soft. Light a candle and get cozy because if you give him the chance, you'll be in so deep you won't remember anything else.
*The Boddington's long gone, the molten gold of Laphroaig with just a bit of water staring back at him, the boy lights a match, applies it to the Lucky Strike between his lips - the swirling exhale lingering, though not unwelcome. He can't help but hear the voice whispering the timeless refrain in his ears.
'One for my baby, and one more for the road.'*
I'm back from visiting Portland, my X and her fiance. It had the potential to be a bit awkward but managed not to be. We've both moved on sufficiently and it's plain to see that she's found something that we never had. We had something, for which I'm truly thankful and, frankly, a better man for having experiened, but it didn't hold a candle to what I saw this week. Theirs is the real thing. You can tell just by looking. I've got something to shoot for, now. I'm certainly a person who bandies about the 'L' word a bit too freely. Out of respect and sheer awe of the real thing, I think I'm gonna try to be a little more careful and exacting in my language.
So, 1st Thursday in Portland is a pretty cool thing. It was fantastic just walking around and checking out the new shows at the galleries. I may have seen about a dozen exhibits. Most were nice, though unremarkable, but there were a three or four that were quite good. There was just so much that trying to convey it all would be an exersise in masturbatory rambling.
I've been interviewing here and there lookng for a single sales and/or marketing position rather than the piecemeal work I've done for the last couple of years. I like the diversity of projects and the relatively open schedule, but (much as I hate to admit it) I need more structure than that which I've been able to provide for myself.
Things would be moving along nicely with except for the fact that the suits I ordered have yet to arrive. It took the sales rep in Montreal 2 weeks to call me and tell me that a couple of the swatches had been on backorder. Mind, he didn't contact me until two weeks after they were supposed to arrive. This may sound petty or yuppie - whatever. The fact remains that I've gone to a couple of interviews badly under-dressed. One of the people I interviewed with even mentioned it. I don't see myself getting that position. Presentation counts, and while I may be able to conduct myself as a professional, that's not worth a damn unless I look like one. Unfortunately, the appearance factor also precludes re-growing the beard I shaved at the beginning of summer. There's just no way to look good if you haven't shaved in a 7-10 days.
It's been a hell of a time, lately, but by some miracle, I'm still standing. There's been a break up, a diagnosis of bipolar, resumes, interviews, the anticipation of fine handmade clothing, and God knows what all else. I think the tattoo and piercing spree was just stress relief from all those things. I needed those few days in Portland. I can feel things evening out already.
A couple of questions-
Have you ever held and X, one of whom you are still extremely fond, in your arms and realized that they just didn't 'feel' right anymore - I mean in the physical, kinetic sense - actually feeling that the electricity isn't there anymore? Has that feeling ever yielded a sense of relief and closure that, previously, had not been present?
Is there a specific song that, when you hear it, catches you off gaurd and forces you to choke back tears, however irrational they may be? I've had a couple lately.
This week 'Someday' by The Strokes hit me like a recking ball while I was in a pizza joint. I don't think I'd ever even heard it before.
'Mr. Brightside' by The Killers almost got me, too.
A reccomendation-
The new DJ Krush album is excellent and doesn't make me cry. Take a listen if you get the chance. You do have to take in the whole album, though. Great stuff. Dark almost impressionist hip-hop beats juxtaposed with the occasional MC and other collected sounds. The guy's a legit artist. He's the first and only person who has shown me that hip-hop beats can be fine art. Dark, languid and soft. Light a candle and get cozy because if you give him the chance, you'll be in so deep you won't remember anything else.
*The Boddington's long gone, the molten gold of Laphroaig with just a bit of water staring back at him, the boy lights a match, applies it to the Lucky Strike between his lips - the swirling exhale lingering, though not unwelcome. He can't help but hear the voice whispering the timeless refrain in his ears.
'One for my baby, and one more for the road.'*
VIEW 25 of 41 COMMENTS
thelibra:
*poke* 
hotcurry:
I'm sorry, I've been so swamped with requests and commissioned pieces, I've been busy organizing and working all day. i didn't think I'd get such a response. I probably won't be online until late tonight. Will you still be around then?