it's 12:01 a.m., on 2001-06-24 - the radiohead concert, pre.
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It's almost midnight, and I'm finally done reading email/checking journals/reading up on REM. Now all I have to do is work my excitement up to see Radiohead for tomorrow-- but it's hard.
I mean, I'm sitting here and I'm excited to see them because Radiohead and REM are good friends. Which is good, because Geoff got this special ticket, and I could give it to him with a good heart. Because I don't really, I mean, I don't want it.
I'm writing the way I talk right now, all stutters and run on sentences. I want to be shy and snarky and sublime.
Today, rae and I bought hot-dogs at this stand, and walked along in beautiful summer weather, and then we walked down the train tracks in the middle of the city and found these crates to sit on, outside the back of a plant store. And we sat and ate our hot dogs, and then this guy comes cycling by, and we talk for a little bit, and he starts talking about drinking and beer. So I'm feeling adventurous -- I don't talk to anyone, not yuppies or drunks or little children -- so I carry on a semi-conversation with him, and barely feel uncomfortable.
He says some jokes. I drink lemonade. It's so sunny.
I notice there's a mattress on the ground under this tree, off to one side a little ways away, and I'm curious as to whether he lives behind this gardening store. I've also got REM in my head, and I'm feeling so very poetic and exposed-- like the fields of rural farming and the hyper-urban Audis/yuppies/coffee shops have combined. Which, they have.
See, these train tracks go straight through the west end of Vancouver, straight down Arbutus, and they cut through Broadway, with it's boutiques and its bagel stores, and it cuts through 4th, with the comic stores and all the fancy apartments, and it cuts all the way up to 70th, where the warehouses live. These tracks must be ancient-- no trains ever show up. Just ghost trains.
He lived there, I'm pretty sure. The sky was very blue.
And so then we go to get some ice cream from Dairy queen, and evaluated the day. I must say, it was very good. I picked up that magazine, even, which is shallow but it made me happy. I finished Georgia, and we made friends with someone who rode a bike and drank and lived behind a plant store. We watched 'if these walls could talk 2', which *was* fabulous, thank you Al. It gave me a happy to see Sharon Stone dancing all around.
I wrote a poem in dairy queen but I'm not going to share it, because while there might not be any bad poetry, there is certain ways of expressing oneself that work, and ones that don't. I don't manage verse.
Radiohead tomorrow. I think I'm going to bring a notebook and maybe, hopefully, use the frantic sublime that is thom yorke and company to see what boils up. Maybe nothing, and then I can lose the book, but maybe something worth keeping.
Maybe it'll rain.
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what would sith be nostalgic about anyway - November 24, 2015
moving truck dilemma - October 28, 2015
- - July 19, 2015
- - July 01, 2015
bruise - June 29, 2015
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