Sunday, August 6, 2000
@ home 0527 hrs
So I woke up about an hour and a half ago thinking that someone was standing over my bed. Between me and the doorway to my room. I swear to God. I said, “Hey,” and when they didn’t respond I yelled it again and kicked at them. Then I figured out it was light and colors on the wall playing tricks. I’ll attribute it to too much drinking, pot smoking, and little sleep over the past week.
I’ve been hanging out with George, the musician from Britain who’s in town for only a few more weeks, doing the same thing almost every night: drink, smoke, drink. I think we can go through something like four packs of cigarettes between us in a night during the peak of our performances. A few nights Wendi has been there to join in on the debauchery. Danielle hasn’t drank with us much, but she’ll smoke and she always gets George off by the end of the night. “I suck your dick for half an hour and all you do is shake my hand?”
I’ve been doing a considerable amount of writing, though. No, it hasn’t all been jumbled marijuana-induced babble, but it has been some really adolescent crap. I was talking to Ariel, a palm reader who hangs around Ruta Maya, about that on Friday. We talked about the open mike poetry nights and how everyone has to use the word “fuck” and say it really loud like it’s the worst sin and they just don’t care, giving the finger to their God.
I really can’t stand those poetry open mikes. Just obnoxious. Though I have to give them credit, writing has always been a very solitary craft and they’re at least taking it out into the world and getting snaps or claps or whatever. I’d like to be able to display my work in public, if I had work. But, as I say, I’ve been writing and hopefully I’ll get the adolescent, open mike-like shit out of my system and be able to start something halfway serious. I let Wendi, George, and Danielle read this, which is the last decent thing I think I’ve written. Danielle liked the last few lines, George couldn’t comment on it, and Wendi said she liked it. The next day, while reading her journal (legitimately), I found that she’d used it as a basis for an entry. [That piece was actually written in January, so don’t think it’s new or anything.]
Anyhow, next week I need to buckle down and get to work on this Australia thing. Have to get a real job, send some certified shit to the University, etc. It’d be stupid to sacrifice this opportunity for another week of drunken rambling nights. I’ll probably go to church with my parents today just to make them feel better. I must repent for my sins!
“Looking out at Pacific sunsets to Austin sunsets…” –Dynamite Hack, “blue sky”