I don’t know sometimes what I should be when I grow up, but I do know that if it was earlier in the last century, I’d like to be a mobster. I think I have what it takes to rule with a cruel hand and am completely capable of enacting the kind of violence needed to shake the competition.
I had a conversation with someone the other day about how Portland doesn’t have people anymore that will put people in check. There is something about having scary people walking around making sure people aren’t complete worthless assholes. Portland doesn’t have this kind of check and balance, so people aren’t stopped from moving into certain neighborhoods or running around like total idiots.
Sometimes I think I may have missed something. Other people seem able to deal with situations that I struggle with. I actually feel pain when I practice small talk.
My girlfriend and I are hooked on Boardwalk Empire; hence the dream of becoming a gangster. She and I also started the Ken Burns Jazz series. This is why I also really appreciated the movie Midnight in Paris, by Woody Allen where Owen Wilson went back to the 20s in Paris and hung out with Hemmingway, the Fitzgeralds and listened to early jazz.
I don’t belong in this time.
I had a dream the other night that I woke up on the moon and I could breathe and I walked around like the astronauts did and found some junk from previous missions and built a hut and as I was sitting in my junk hut, trees started growing. I remember thinking that it was nice not being on Earth anymore. Then all these spaceships started arriving and people got out and they started building a moon base. Man, was I bummed.
I’m rooting for the Giants in the World Series. They’re up 2 – 0, but now they play in Detroit for three games.
I never stop getting blown away by Charles Mingus. I space out when I listen to him and I watch the world drift away and get grey and pixelated. Its orchestrated, but I can hear every instrument individually and by the time the song is over I have been in such an alien world, I can’t explain where I’ve been.
I’ve been walking on that fine line of depression these last few weeks. Sleep is getting harder, eating is becoming a chore, isolation is becoming more and more comfortable, misguided anger and judgment is on the rise and being open and honest is dropping. Let the snow and ice come, motherfucker, I will be where I’m supposed to be, wrapped up in a blanket, reading.
Don’t hate me for this, but sometimes I still play the game of hot and cold with certain people. One week I’m really excited to this person and the next week I act like I don’t notice the person at all. It gives me unhealthy power.
Just to check in, not that any of you care, but I’ve finished an outline for my book and now I’ve been getting on with Chapter I. I’ve made a promise to myself no matter how much I start hating the story, that I will finish it. Every night as I am waiting for sleep I think about the story and how to make it better.
I keep thinking about shaving my beard, but damn it’s warm. Plus, I think every time I shave, my double chin gets bigger and bigger. Luckily I am funny, because I sure can’t rely on my looks or personality.
I’m on hiatus from classical for a bit while I have fallen back in love with jazz.
Running from things or fighting things just aren’t happening in my life right now, and I couldn’t be more bored!
I’m reading Kafka on the Shore, by Haruki Murakami. I’m late on the bandwagon, but I’m glad I got on. He is not overrated.