It's an accidental world of collaboration, where influences and feedback can build wholes that are greater than the sums of their parts.
o understand me, you must understand lots of little contributing factors:
- My parents, with their radical views and their attitude of taking shit from no one
- My childhood: socially intense in a progressive suburb, then isolated in a conservative rural location, culminating with my sudden late immersion in contemporary culture at Oberlin College
- My meeting Alex Guldbeck and Heather Bissel, who taught me that the opinions of others matter little when there's a life that needs to be lived
- My interest in art, artists and art history, which, along with my interest in contemporary culture, brought me to and locked me within Charlottesville
- My exposure to the Malvern Girls, and their zany, flawed, inspirational do-it-yourself attitude
- My discovery of the Internet and the Web, which gave me the means to fully express myself
- My recent entrance into the community of those who keep online journals: the good, the dreadful, and the occasionally okay. It's an accidental world of collaboration, where influences and feedback can build wholes that are greater than the sums of their parts.
My biggest influence right now would be Alan of heinovision, who keeps an unusually complex online journal. His writing has been the single biggest factor in my recent desire to dig deeper, down below the stories themselves, to the underlying structure of my mind and the minds of others. Inside the head there are no chronologies, no linearities, just a tangled web of influences, prejudices and emotions, driven by reptilian urges and physical imperatives. Truth has no meaning there, neither does morality or love. I want to dwell there more, if only to sensibly season this stew I'm slinging.
Truth has no meaning there, neither does morality or love.
The way layers of intensity and structure supercede each other throughout this song violate all the norms of pop music in a way that leaves me thoroughly moved and amazed and willing to try it over and over for its peculiar rush.
atthew Hart wanted me to buy him liquor today. I was agreeable to that, and I waited for him while he went up to his room to put on some shoes. I went into the kitchen to make a sandwich. When I came back to the living room, he was still nowhere to be seen. So I went outside and there, parked on Observatory, was Angela's white Cadillac. She must have slipped in while I wasn't looking; the two were no doubt inside having sex. I wasn't going to wait for that, I have my pride, so here I am at UVA's Olssen Hall.
was drinking coffee and listening to Matthew's copy of Sebadoh's excellent CD Harmacy late this afternoon. I love the song "Too Pure" so much that I find myself continually hitting the CD player's back button just so I can live through it yet again. The way layers of intensity and structure supercede each other throughout this song violate all the norms of pop music in a way that leaves me thoroughly moved and amazed and willing to try it over and over for its peculiar rush.
The Saranac Wild Berry was on deep discount, so I got a six of that. It turned out to be rather more queer than I'd hoped.
s previously arranged, Kelly, the girl who abducted me Saturday night, came over after she got off work at 6pm. She, Deya and I went as an unlikely contingent down to the JPA Fastmart to pick up some hard cider and beer. Deya was craving the former, and for reasons of sheer alcoholic inertia and social imperative, the latter also seemed in order. The Saranac Wild Berry was on deep discount, so I got a six of that. It turned out to be rather more queer than I'd hoped.
Angela's old boyfriend Aaron suddenly appeared as we returned on foot to Kappa Mutha Fucka. Not missing a beat, I invited him to drink beers with us. Advancing earlier indications, he and Deya spent a considerable amount of time on the front porch while Kelly and I talked about things inside.
The world in which Kelly and I dwell proves smaller and smaller each time we talk. She told me an amazing story from 1994. Back in those days, she used to hang out at Felini's, a now defunct bar on 2nd Street near the Downtown Mall. Felini's was famous for its lax attitude towards underage drinkers, which she definitely was at the time. She ran across a cute little punk rock boy at the bar, whose line was that he liked a girl who smoked her cigarette all the way down to the filter. She ended up going home with him, though, for legal reasons, it was to be his last night in Charlottesville. It turns out that he was none other than my old Oberlin friend Jeff Brecko, Heather Bissel's old boyfriend. Kelly says that all that night he suffered from serious drug withdrawal: shivering, being angry at the world, and pounding holes in the wall. As he left for New Jersey the next day, he gave Kelly something to remember him by, his police summons for urinating on a cop car.
He suffered from serious drug withdrawal: shivering, being angry at the world, and pounding holes in the wall
We joined the others on the front porch, and Kelly happened to mention that all the male members of her family are Promise Keepers. I was amazed at how fast Kelly can drink beer.
Matthew, Peggy and Zach all returned from a picnic at the Louisa Quarry. I suppose things were a little tense for Matthew with Aaron on the porch, but I didn't hang around long enough to suffer through it; I went off to take my prework nap. Kelly contributed to the effort.
The bouncers are thugs and I doubt they'd side with me in an altercation with their favourite patron.
She later went off to see Pavement and the Curious Digit perform at Trax. I would have liked to go as well (Pavement is one of my favourite bands), but you know, Trax has become a major skinhead hangout, and even on a good night with a good band like Pavement, Trax pretty much sucks. The bouncers are thugs and I doubt they'd side with me in an altercation with their favourite patron, Eric "the Nazi" Huffman.
Get a sense of what I was like exactly eight years ago and one year ago today.