'cause nothing changes, ever changes
doesn't seem the same these days
*
first there is this:
http://www.30seconds.org/year4/113000.html
i have a feeling i've linked to this before, but i lost track, got older, other things got in the way, got lazy. i used to have a print out of it that i carried around with other random stuff, like random emails that seemed to carry some importance to them: one from a friend talking about a coworker that gave him a painting a few days before he killed himself; another, a two page single spaced note from Carl Steadman just talking about packing for a trip; random family messages that seemed necessary at the time, but one especially from an aunt about a second cousin, i hadn't seen him since the last family reunion in 1994(?) who, after a long bout with depression, had also removed himself from this mortal coil.
i say this all from memory, as they are all long gone but the memory of them remains, simply because during my own times of loneliness and introspection i read them, again and again. not so much like a favorite book, but as points that seemingly have no connection but over the years formed a crumpled polaroid of my life over a few years. the picture not really clear but you can see how before it all got mashed together there was once something there worth looking at.
*
there were other things, like a few stories i'd written, also long since gone but committed to the grey matter. i'll reconstruct when the time is right, for those had a bit of a timeline to them at least, a flow that had a beginning and an end that simply needed the large blank spaces between them filled.
but that link. i used to read the blog all the time, long before we knew to call it a blog. and then, well, like i said, time, laziness...but to be honest it was work more than anything that just got in the way. in between moving so many times the last decade i tended to not have much of an interest in reading others and nearly less so in writing about mine.
but now. i'm lazy. i cook when i feel like it, only for myself. i read, but only online. haven't cracked the spine of a book in over a month. i watch tv, but only when i'm not sleeping 16 hours a day (or more). i say this all because for the first time in a while i'm remembering my dreams.
i don't put too much stock in dreams, but i always find it interesting what i still remember after waking up, and i dreamt i was reading this at some random hotel desk sometime over the last eight years. and after i was done reading that faded printout, i sat back in the crappy chair (this must have been one of the lower class places i was in with my last company) and just stared at myself in the mirror over the desk for probably five minutes.
i'm not sure what it means, again, why should it mean anything? i just find it a curious thing that my subconscious would recall a specific blog entry from over eleven years ago.
"And so I think I write mostly so I don't forget, while silently wishing the memories away so I can read." i suppose that sums it up pretty well.
*
i could take a train or fly away, maybe write a book and change my name...i could settle down
*
first there is this:
http://www.30seconds.org/year4/113000.html
i have a feeling i've linked to this before, but i lost track, got older, other things got in the way, got lazy. i used to have a print out of it that i carried around with other random stuff, like random emails that seemed to carry some importance to them: one from a friend talking about a coworker that gave him a painting a few days before he killed himself; another, a two page single spaced note from Carl Steadman just talking about packing for a trip; random family messages that seemed necessary at the time, but one especially from an aunt about a second cousin, i hadn't seen him since the last family reunion in 1994(?) who, after a long bout with depression, had also removed himself from this mortal coil.
i say this all from memory, as they are all long gone but the memory of them remains, simply because during my own times of loneliness and introspection i read them, again and again. not so much like a favorite book, but as points that seemingly have no connection but over the years formed a crumpled polaroid of my life over a few years. the picture not really clear but you can see how before it all got mashed together there was once something there worth looking at.
*
there were other things, like a few stories i'd written, also long since gone but committed to the grey matter. i'll reconstruct when the time is right, for those had a bit of a timeline to them at least, a flow that had a beginning and an end that simply needed the large blank spaces between them filled.
but that link. i used to read the blog all the time, long before we knew to call it a blog. and then, well, like i said, time, laziness...but to be honest it was work more than anything that just got in the way. in between moving so many times the last decade i tended to not have much of an interest in reading others and nearly less so in writing about mine.
but now. i'm lazy. i cook when i feel like it, only for myself. i read, but only online. haven't cracked the spine of a book in over a month. i watch tv, but only when i'm not sleeping 16 hours a day (or more). i say this all because for the first time in a while i'm remembering my dreams.
i don't put too much stock in dreams, but i always find it interesting what i still remember after waking up, and i dreamt i was reading this at some random hotel desk sometime over the last eight years. and after i was done reading that faded printout, i sat back in the crappy chair (this must have been one of the lower class places i was in with my last company) and just stared at myself in the mirror over the desk for probably five minutes.
i'm not sure what it means, again, why should it mean anything? i just find it a curious thing that my subconscious would recall a specific blog entry from over eleven years ago.
"And so I think I write mostly so I don't forget, while silently wishing the memories away so I can read." i suppose that sums it up pretty well.
*
i could take a train or fly away, maybe write a book and change my name...i could settle down
posted by jersn at 10:51 AM
5 Comments:
J, where are you at nowadays?
so. MD. sucking the life out of me.
i need to get back to DC. bad enough i told my dad that was the one place i felt like home.
Like, in St. Mary's county? Charles County?
St. Mary's Ct. I got your notice about everything...I've been here and there and all over the place. I had a long talk with an old friend tonight, someone if you asked me ten years ago if i remembered them I'd ask Who?
But it's funny how time, family, etc tends to erase a lot of those things. but also bring them back into play.
i'm interested in seeing what you and E have in mind with the blog. myself...I actually wrote out an outline.
there are a lot of holes to fill, but i'm finding with that so much time to kill (and it's getting worse by the day) i can fill it.
I know you're in Rockville or some such suburb but damn I miss DC. I broke down two weeks ago and said as much to my dad, who just turned 70. I've seen ten towns in the last ten years and it took me this long to realize that of all the stupid places i would like to live it has to be fucking DC.
i moved out of my place in the NE side (only two blocks from H street on 12th) last October and all I dream about is moving back. I don't have dreams about Madison or Charlotte or even Pittsburgh. i hear music i see DC. I dream I see DC. I talk to people, they ask me, "when you back in DC?". I have friends I haven't seen in three years, over in Ireland (it happens) and they ask me, When are you going back?
this is just a rant, a need for me to get it out, but i'm sure you see the idiocy that is me. I find it hard to believe that only ten years ago I was listening to WYEP in Pittsburgh, sitting at my computer, a good solid bar two blocks away and friends all around me.
and now i'm just south of DC and lonely, friendless, the only people i ever talk to are professional folk who because we got canned from the same company so many years back is the only reason we still talk. yes, it's moved beyond profressionalism and into friendship but still...it's sad in it's own way. we trade recipes. talk shit about our shared past. gossip.
this has gone on longer than necessary.
*
i had a longer than necessary talk with a friend from my religious days tonight, and it's kinda got me out of everything. it made me realize how fucked up my family really is, and despite how much i love them all it ever does is just make me wonder how much better we would be to be free from such confines.
Brian Aldiss is an author who I really don't think gets proper respect in regards to Asimov, Bradbury, Spinrad, etc...he wrote a book back in 1994 called "Somewhere East of Life". the lead story i first read in Asimov's...I was was that guy in the used bookstore buying old copies of magazines when i was only 15 or 16...the lead story was called FOAM.
Free Of All Memory. It encompassed all I ever asked for in a story: relationship, archaeology, trying to make the past make sense to the present, and trying to forget all that came before.
I'm Great Mills, MD. I'm reading this, these words, these idiocies of mine and wondering where i left it behind. (rhyming just to see if i could still do it). I'm working on a few things, but no progress to speak.
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