AFTERNOON:
Hot, Steamy in New Jersey. It brings on Lethargy. I am suddenly wishing I was a member of a swim club, despite all the pissing kids and their brain dead soccer moms. I have been reading and snoozing, reading and snoozing most of the day. Trying to finish up Jack London, Martin Eden - the classics always take longer to read. The next book will be a mass paper back about the defiling, torture, and eventual death of a young girl living on the East Coast somewhere in the early 70's; apparently the step-mother and the neighborhood kids were torturing her for years and the whole block knew and did nothing. It's called The Girl Next Door by horror writer Jack Ketchum; I read about it in http://www.rue-morgue.com/.
Tonight, accutely aware that I have been sequestering too much since returning from South Dakota, I decided to go to this latin club in Jersey. I know the place, I hate, the people are usually undesireables, and here I go. What the fuck is that about? The venturing to places you dislike? It will be nice to see an old collegue, Puerto Rican guy, gym coach, whom I have little in common with, but for some reason he calls me to hang out and has been consistent in calling since I met him. He's not a fag, he's got a woman, he's got friends...I don't get it. We have a few beers and after that I am digging within the recesses of my brain to come up with conversation. I usually read the sports section before I meet him. What a nut I can be. It might be good to discuss my recent break-up with him.
Spent too much cash today, I bought kick-ass speakers for my computer seeing that I listen to all my music via Itunes and have been for the past 2 years now.
I have that salty, tired feeling in my eyes. Well, I like drumming shit up on SG; at least ut gets me writing. I am facinated at the popularity of blogs etc. What ever happened to that secret diary with the lock on it tucked under your mattress? Now, everyone exposes themselves via Internet blogs and journals? What does this say about modern society? MMMHHM.
Nothing better than letting Itunes play at random; it becomes the best radio station in the world that you created. You as program director.
Rent the documentary Z Channel: A Magnificent Obsession from netflix - it is pretty interesting accont of early cable TV and again reminds you of the corporate blandness of things these days.
NIGHT:
Plans changed - no lating club. Instead I go to see an old student who is in bad shape. She is a Puerto Rican Muslim. She has a mom always in the bug house. She has a nineteen year old sister with a kid. She mostly lives with her grandmother. She is so dirt poor. Poor is the most depressing adjective in the English language. It's far worse than death. You see poor, real poor, when you are not from poor; man you really see something awful. Try it.
Tonight was just weird. I went on one of my risky adventures to experience. I felt like Travis Bickle minus the psychosis, or, maybe with, I am not certain. There I am driving around smoking cigarettes with a seventeen year old, and she is being so busy doing nothing, talking nothing, concerned about irrelevant phone messages, distracted by text messages. She talks the language of not there. I was too high and seeing everything as it was, the thing America is so desparately trying to run away from by sulfiting the air/waves with shows that promise instant fame and riches. The same three beats, over and over, over. You know the word.
I drop her off as quickly as possible, right to her grandmother's front door, or at least she tells me. She is a pathologic. Lying is one. When I say bye we almost go for a hug, but I decide to just give her five. I know what she wanted, what scared me most was knowing what I might want. But the angel of reason crawled into my ear. You become a teacher, you take an oath: educate and help. These days I only see mechanics - caricatures of teachers and students pretending; teaching tests; the bullshit. Class of 1984 is NOW. And I ain't talkin' 'bout Orwell's I am talkin' that 1982 cult classic with a young Michael J Fox and the overlooked Van Patten who was in The White Shadow doin' sprints as "Salami" for Coach Reeves. Regardless, these are the actions of a man with reckless abandon.
This will continue another time, my invisible audience. That spick friend of mine just phoned, we are back on at the Latin club. What's more boring than watching paint dry? Watching an Irish guy at a Salsa/Latin Lounge.
Listening to "Me You and Everyone You Know score - tremendous.
I return at 1:45 am, Hoboken was empty and depressing. Everyone is down the shore. The company I was with didn't help. A gym teacher and a brand new NYC cop. Awful. Nice guys, not much upstair, more on that later. I am being critical again. I vowed to stop it.
This night typifies what happens when I get bored with myself. Stay home and read next time.
Hot, Steamy in New Jersey. It brings on Lethargy. I am suddenly wishing I was a member of a swim club, despite all the pissing kids and their brain dead soccer moms. I have been reading and snoozing, reading and snoozing most of the day. Trying to finish up Jack London, Martin Eden - the classics always take longer to read. The next book will be a mass paper back about the defiling, torture, and eventual death of a young girl living on the East Coast somewhere in the early 70's; apparently the step-mother and the neighborhood kids were torturing her for years and the whole block knew and did nothing. It's called The Girl Next Door by horror writer Jack Ketchum; I read about it in http://www.rue-morgue.com/.
Tonight, accutely aware that I have been sequestering too much since returning from South Dakota, I decided to go to this latin club in Jersey. I know the place, I hate, the people are usually undesireables, and here I go. What the fuck is that about? The venturing to places you dislike? It will be nice to see an old collegue, Puerto Rican guy, gym coach, whom I have little in common with, but for some reason he calls me to hang out and has been consistent in calling since I met him. He's not a fag, he's got a woman, he's got friends...I don't get it. We have a few beers and after that I am digging within the recesses of my brain to come up with conversation. I usually read the sports section before I meet him. What a nut I can be. It might be good to discuss my recent break-up with him.
Spent too much cash today, I bought kick-ass speakers for my computer seeing that I listen to all my music via Itunes and have been for the past 2 years now.
I have that salty, tired feeling in my eyes. Well, I like drumming shit up on SG; at least ut gets me writing. I am facinated at the popularity of blogs etc. What ever happened to that secret diary with the lock on it tucked under your mattress? Now, everyone exposes themselves via Internet blogs and journals? What does this say about modern society? MMMHHM.
Nothing better than letting Itunes play at random; it becomes the best radio station in the world that you created. You as program director.
Rent the documentary Z Channel: A Magnificent Obsession from netflix - it is pretty interesting accont of early cable TV and again reminds you of the corporate blandness of things these days.
NIGHT:
Plans changed - no lating club. Instead I go to see an old student who is in bad shape. She is a Puerto Rican Muslim. She has a mom always in the bug house. She has a nineteen year old sister with a kid. She mostly lives with her grandmother. She is so dirt poor. Poor is the most depressing adjective in the English language. It's far worse than death. You see poor, real poor, when you are not from poor; man you really see something awful. Try it.
Tonight was just weird. I went on one of my risky adventures to experience. I felt like Travis Bickle minus the psychosis, or, maybe with, I am not certain. There I am driving around smoking cigarettes with a seventeen year old, and she is being so busy doing nothing, talking nothing, concerned about irrelevant phone messages, distracted by text messages. She talks the language of not there. I was too high and seeing everything as it was, the thing America is so desparately trying to run away from by sulfiting the air/waves with shows that promise instant fame and riches. The same three beats, over and over, over. You know the word.
I drop her off as quickly as possible, right to her grandmother's front door, or at least she tells me. She is a pathologic. Lying is one. When I say bye we almost go for a hug, but I decide to just give her five. I know what she wanted, what scared me most was knowing what I might want. But the angel of reason crawled into my ear. You become a teacher, you take an oath: educate and help. These days I only see mechanics - caricatures of teachers and students pretending; teaching tests; the bullshit. Class of 1984 is NOW. And I ain't talkin' 'bout Orwell's I am talkin' that 1982 cult classic with a young Michael J Fox and the overlooked Van Patten who was in The White Shadow doin' sprints as "Salami" for Coach Reeves. Regardless, these are the actions of a man with reckless abandon.
This will continue another time, my invisible audience. That spick friend of mine just phoned, we are back on at the Latin club. What's more boring than watching paint dry? Watching an Irish guy at a Salsa/Latin Lounge.
Listening to "Me You and Everyone You Know score - tremendous.
I return at 1:45 am, Hoboken was empty and depressing. Everyone is down the shore. The company I was with didn't help. A gym teacher and a brand new NYC cop. Awful. Nice guys, not much upstair, more on that later. I am being critical again. I vowed to stop it.
This night typifies what happens when I get bored with myself. Stay home and read next time.