Sunday, October 19, 2003

I seem to be in my supreme writing element really late at night, caught between the lure of a vacant dream and the desire to capture in words the efflorescence of my soul. This late I tend to use words like that too. The ostentatiousness doesn't get to me.

The warm weather of California is definitely a blessing if you're looking for consistency and calm. But if you're looking for the passion of nature, the accent of seasons, the parallel of human emotion in wind and rain, you won't find it out here. At least not where I live. I love this state, it is my home, but I miss the seasons already. I've found that I'm a brooding person, and that's harder to do in everlasting sunshine and warm weather.

At what point does deep thinking and deep feeling make you engaging and vital and at what point does it make you just another shoegazing fool unable to see the forest for the trees?

I had fun today in Los Angeles with my friend Alex. She and I saw a Shepard Fairey exhibit (www.obeygiant.com) at Six Space and then we went to the MOCA (Museum of Contemporary Art) where they had a big collection of Frank Ghery architectural art. There were also a few Jackson Pollack and Andy Warhol pieces as well. Oh and there was a really creepy remote-controlled manequin boy on a tricycle that would nod at you and move it's eyes at you (really cool, but super creepy). Then we had lunch at an awesome, old, public market that was chock full of varied foods and varied people.

I'm in a funk. I don't know what it is. Perhaps I'm reacting to being out of school. I'm reading even more than I used to. Just voraciously. It's awesome, but I think it's because I don't feel like I'm learning as much as I would be. No classrooms. No teachers. No assigments. Just life as a giant open book with untitled chapters and an index that only references the places you've been.

I don't know exactly what it was, but something about this evening made me feel incredibly lonely. It pulled at me pretty hard.

"In this sea of lonely/The taste of ink is getting old/It's four o'clock in the fucking morning/Each day gets more and more like the last day" - The Used

That just about sums it up.