it's 5:31 am, on August 28, 2001 - melodrama on icq.
~
I'm listening to acoustic Smashing Pumpkins; Disarm and Mayonaise, and some Soothe just for fun. Tonight I'm feeling all about b-sides.
Well, Disarm isn't a b-side. Neither is Today and that was on earlier.
Today was earlier.
I sent Al an email the other day that was one line: 'hope the apartment is treating you well'. It's like what someone would sent a stranger, an estranged spouse, an abandoned father or daughter or mother or son. Something in that line makes me think, detached, once there was something else in the way.
I took a shower today, and thought about wanting people without knowing them. I also scrubbed at my hair, angry repetetive motions that would have torn out longer hair. Mine's all short now, so I was fine. A lot of things that would have previously torn things out by the roots don't seem to do anything anymore.
I'm not sad. This is new. I'm restless. I'm not sad.
Billy Corgan's vocals are all nasal, whining. He was a controlling figure in the band, he had to have things his way.
I'm quite proud to recognise that R.E.M. is a love affair I came to all on my own. See, a lot of my bands and music glossary comes from other people. Paris dipped his hands in my pool of music and left a hard mark, with Beck and Radiohead and the Pumpkins and 54-40. Dylan's done his own bit with David Usher and Radiohead, too. A lot of people have done their own bit. Will and Carolina share the barenaked Ladies with me, though I think it's equal footing. The Counting Crows were just me, and so was R.E.M.
In some ways, I feel gratified that most of the time, I want to listen to the Crows and Michael Stipe instead of Billy Corgan. Tonight's an exception. I might even put on some Beck later on, and grin softly at smoke only I can see.
~*~
After that hyper-melodrama, I'll ask a far more normal question. Where do I know the name Joey Waronker? He's playing with R.E.M. right now, I have it on the unplugged video that Meagan taped for me. I want to know. I think he's the guy with the red hair that I want.
Maybe he toured with Beck.
--yep, that's it. Joey Waronker was the genius behind Beck's 'Mutations' album, and he was the guy playing drums when I saw him at the Plaza. Makes sense. I loved those drums.
He said:
O: Do you feel more pressure the more famous you become?
JW: I try not to think about it. I mean, I guess the pressure will start when I go into one of those situations, all mellow, and they hate what I'm doing, and word gets out that I suck and I'll never work again. That would be bad. But I have a back-up plan. I think I've already saved enough money where I can sell my car, and I just bought a house, so if it all ends in a couple of years, I can just sell all my assets and move to Mexico. Have a shack on a beach. Teach children drum lessons. Or write children's music or something.
I knew I liked the man.
~*~
The Pumpkins changed to Rob Thomas. I think I'll put on something more, something, something--
I wrote another email today that said, 'it's a 3:14 mood'. But maybe it's not, maybe I really am a selfish prick and all I have to show for it is a few useless lines of Lance looking around and saying, 'this isn't enough because this is easy'.
'the exit signs are flashing, dead ends, they won't come to life anymore'
I remember Paris vaguely. that's okay.
'I pledged the rest, I should have guessed, your love was hanging by threads'
'tongues tied under the moon, my love is a room, of broken bottles and tangled webs'
That's still one of my favorite Beck lines, even after all his candor and crack and charm. I think that it's because Paris gave it to me, again. I still remember the three cd's he brought over the first time, and that's because sometimes, when you used to be a romantic, you remember more things than you should, now that you're not. I guess.
Like, I bet, I dunno. I bet Keller even remembers what the laundry detergent smells like, even though he doesn't care.
~*~
Speaking of laundry detergent.
I did some pretty good shower thinking today. But I'm not going to rehash it any more. What I'm gonna do is mention all the dreams I've been having.
In one I had at Rae's place, I ate half a chocolate cake, and then my aunt thought I was on drugs but I wasn't, and Dex was having a dexcon in the basement of a hotel and I think I gave someone a backrub.
In another one (and I have it written down from earlier today) there were like, these vampires coming through a world-boundary, and I was trying to stake them only I wasn't very good. And we had all these people in prison temporarily because the people from the other world were possibly being possessed by this thing, called Mannu, and no I don't know what that is. And there was this broken bird in it, at some point, and tears of blood. And the last part was me, on the other world trying to get some food, and I met Ben and his eyes were empty and Ben was my friend and so I was really sad that he was hollow. I woke up I was shaking, and I wrote:
'as they're leaving she smashes her fist. he doesn't notice'.
And: 'canadians used to watch (people doing things to) canadians from afar. now they watch each other.'
I don't know what it meant even when I woke up.
And then I dreamed that there was a concert at my high school, the Barenaked Ladies, and Steven Page came out early to kinda talk to the front row, and I got up to walk down and hover... and he wanted to know whether anyone had any questions, and people asked stuff and I said, "would you... no, you don't do song requests, do you." and he shook his head, no. But that was okay because I couldn't remember the song I wanted to hear anyway.
And then I went back up to my seat and yeah, someone had taken it.
~*~
I'm scattered all over the place, I know. But I wanted to say, goddamned, but I'm thirsty tonight. I drank all the orange juice and I'm in serious danger of drinking all the milk, and I can't stand it. Like, I hate water, okay? I know it's stupid, but I can't stand the taste. And I'm dying here. I've had about four mugs of milk (which I don't like either) and I just *crave* more.
I'm craving something to drink down in general, I think. It's the heat.
I'm so *thirsty*.
~*~
I just put on radiohead.
I remember this night vaguely. I don't know if this is the time he slept with my best friend or me, or whether this was sex-less and whether I stroked his head and stopped him crying and nothing -- no one, even -- came from it.
One of us should call the other, or something.
~*~
Something else I've been considering for about an hour: whether to take my more private thoughts, like about who I am and am not dating, and stick them somewhere else. Say my un-used livejournal, for example. So that I don't make anyone sad with a careless word.
But then I remembered Xander's email about performance, and I realized, hell, what would be the point in that? I tell the truth because I want people to read it, not because I want to get it out. I gave up on saying anything unless it has the effect I'm hoping for a long time ago. Everything I say is weighed carefully now. It always has been.
That's how someone goes about life lying to themselves, I guess. Maybe I do that. but if you do that for so long it feels real, it's not a lie, and I guess that's where I am.
--seven mary three is, yep, right there. 'Mean Mr. Mustard says he's bored, of life in the District'.
You know, this still makes me want to cry.
You know something else? I haven't talked to Randy in months. I haven't talked to Sue -- the other sue -- in more months than I want to admit. I miss her, and I want her to know that, but I'm not a pack rat and I don't do beginnings well. I feel like her aaron, and I think she should kick the shit out of me. Because I was never going to be like that, and yet I am.
See, I have this teeny failing.
I'm impatient. It doesn't sit well with things like this.
~*~
I opened an email to Riv earlier today, but I didn't know what to say, closed it before I typed anything at all. I almost went with caustic and bitter and cracked, and sent a short 'here today, gone to maui: things aren't looking up, wish you were here' but no, that's just not the right vibe.
I mean, I wish she was here, but that's not the way I want to tell her, is it?
--out of, yeah, I just searched for the other Sue on ICQ. No go. I tried both email addresses I knew, and I tried the nick I knew.
I suppose some meetings are better left. Somewhere.
Maybe, but, no. I have her phone number somewhere, possibly even in my new address book, certainly in my old one, but she sure wouldn't appreciate a phone call at five twenty five in the morning. Hell, I sure wouldn't.
Well. I, I.
This is why I don't open ICQ. Too many ghosts. Even nicole on the list makes me nervous; too many things I've left behind in that little program. I'm sure AIM will get like that eventually, I'll refuse to open it because I remember too well and delete too little. mIRC stayed closed for a long time because of that. Logfiles, even ones I've deleted, don't help.
--fiona apple. Fucking brilliant.
I miss my spirit animal too, but I guess it's too much to ask him to stay around when the soundtrack's so shitty and my mind is so shallow. Maybe he went to maui.
Yeah, I could see that.
~
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