In Tents

I hate writing by popular demand… it’s never as deep or spurlock of the morgant. But I am indeed a man of the people, and in the interest of keeping you screaming baby birds happy, regurgitated worms are coming right up.

I really don’t think anyone at uni gets me. And K-lo, if you’re reading this, and I know you’re junkie smiling now, then I’m sorry about spoiling your hard worked for classes…kinda. Everything’s more fun with peripheral knowledge. But yeah, sorry, everyone just thinks I’m plain nuts. I assume. If I’m doing my job right, then yeah, everyone thinks I’m plain nuts. You think starting a conga line, or interpretive dancing my way through year 12 maths was my zenith, you was wrong, bitches. I just don’t know… I try so hard. Oh well, one dya they’ll get me. Or hopefully not, and I can remain a kind of Mark Twain for the new century.

Talking to Paul right now. Kinda busy… all that feeling was supposed to go into this. Too much typing, not enough attention.

The Heart is a Lonely Hunter… Carson McCullers. That… that book. Carson is a woman by the way. And it is! The heart is a hunter, not a victim, it isn’t broken, it does the breaking. The spearing.
Live lonely sweet lover of my night, your hacked-up rose bush will live on.

So I’m slowly making sure everyone I know has heard the Hold Steady. I maintain… Separation Sunday is THE album of 2006. I mean that it’s not only the best, but thematically it IS this year, this generation at least for New York, it is the mixture of right-wing religion and hard-core drugs, the conservative with the subversion, it is US. It is 2006.

I love nights. And days actually. I meet so many new people every day. I don’t meet anyone new but different myselves at night.

I am drinking tea.

There are many directions, but only three dimensions. Of course there are more, but for day-to-day purposes, for practicality, there are only three. What I’m saying is that means we have the illusion of infinite choice and direction, whilst actually being very limited. I think that’s very appropriate. We simply need to define dimensions of philosophy and time and such, as in, fate. Because I think destiny is like that. An infinity of choice and options, yours free to make, but of course only within a limited confine.

I guess maybe I should give in and commit to a relationship. It’s not it’s for lack of opportunity. Sigh… a little longer, please, just to relish my novel.
Steppenwolf, everyone, Steppenwolf.