it's 1:54 pm, on March 18, 2002 - the lance in space epiphany.
~
This was going to be a much longer entry, while I was upstairs, wailing inside my head and reading a biography of Allen Ginsberg.
And Janine, Ins, whatever name she wishes, she's a fabulous person who made me smile all day yesterday with her present. I feel inadaquete to share that joy with the universe -- I want to pass the feeling on to someone else, but I'm going to have to think, long and hard, about how.
Anyway.
I made a list of things I wanted to talk about, about an hour ago, and then I never wrote the entry, and now none of them seem as important as they did before. Except extolling Janine and how wonderful she is, because. yeah. --regardless, here is the list.
a. This came to me while I was reading said biography of Allen: he worked without a safety net, and that's what I haven't done yet. Worked without a safety net. someone could always catch me if I fall. I want to go somewhere where there's no one staring up blissfully, letting me know it's okay to jump into frantic oblivion.
Hey look, Fear and Loathing quotes and it's not even two pm.
b. Also reading Allen's biography. The triangle of the beats that interests me, has always interested me, is Allen, Neal and Jack. Allen is the one I identify with, because he's the one that. I don't eve know. Allen. And Jack is one guy I can't get a hold of, he's a continual mystery to me, but good. --this is all literal, not metaphorical.-- But Neal. Neal, I think. I don't know. Maybe we all end up meeting Neal in our lives, at one point or another: the person that teaches you sometimes begging isn't enough. You know? The one that teaches the lesson, don't give it your all if you've got nothing but the hope that it has to work. That's phrased wrong, because I'm sleepy, but you know what I mean. Jack might have been western, but unlike Dean, I think Jack was kind. Dean was too into himself and cowboy. maybe. I don't know.
--I think my bodywash is making my skin itchy. I fret, as Sheila would say, because I like it so.--
c. The cbffas -- this awards thing for comic book fanfiction. On my little list, I have "cbffas, whatever way they turn", because I hadn't read the results. And now that I have, I don't know what to say. I won, in a category that I'd been nominated in. I don't know how to feel. Maybe because I wrote the story so long ago that I'm disconnected from it, even now -- I can reread it and realize I don't remember a single fucking word as my own. It's good, yes, but it doesn't feel mine anymore. So, odd.
d. To make a long story short, I was talking to dad this morning; and through the discussions of putting money away, and having life to live yet (which Rae mentioned too -- in that we're only just twenty, and we have years to figure out how our lives are going to go, we don't have to figure it out now--), it just felt like staring at a great gaping maw ready to swallow me whole, and the mouth belonged to the future itself.
--I have an uncommon affection for the phrase 'gaping maw'.--
e. There is snow on the ground, again. In fucking March. This isn't the pacific northwest anymore, man, this is like some greek tragedy. There should only be greeks.
f. wasn't going to include this, but, I still have this albatross of sadness hanging around my head. Just keeping everyone informed. So far, my brain's been quiet today. Taking some time off to regroup, I suppose. I just have a headache, right between the eyes.
Will end off with an email that I read this morning, right before I found out I'd won for "renere". It said, to paraphrase, "I was drinking some really good apple juice this morning, when I realized that Lise could stand for the Lance In Space Experience." Was it "experiment"? now I'm going to have to look it up.. except I can't, because my webmail site is down. So we'll just have to go with "experience" or "experiment" and have it depend on whether it's Allen, Jack, or Neal talking.
And now, getting into my email, I find out they're all wrong, because it's "epiphany". Which just goes to show, me quoting any beat poet apparently comes out wrong, and I'm sorry for it.
~
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