Ordinary language is all right.
One could divide humanity into two classes:
those who master a metaphor, and those who hold by a formula.
Those with a bent for both are too few, they do not comprise a class.
Put that together with indie guilt and you have the beginnings of a fine entry for the forthcoming DSM-V.
Lord help me I am still an indie kid even though I swear I never really was one. I will now dutifully present my evidence.
This afternoon after 1) moping around listlessly, I left the house in a 2) hooded sweatshirt and listening to 3) Yo La Tengo to go to a 4) coffeeshop to sit and 5) look at girls. On the way there a cute girl smiled at me and I 6) confusedly looked away in fear. (I am not lost, though; I did smile at the one later inside the shop.)
On my way home, I espied the 7) car poetry girl washing her windshield at the gas station. This is a girl who lives somewhere in my neighborhood, who drives a decrepit old Volvo covered with political bumperstickers and, most importantly, which has a 8) poem written on the 9) sides of it. The poem sounds suspiciously 10) goth at first glance but actually turns out to be 11) Emily Dickinson's #511, which you might find out if like me you are not that familiar with Emily Dickinson but happen to 12) google lines from a poem you saw written on a strange car because you figured a very cute and interesting (note the order there) girl must drive the car. You might even then 13) develop a silly crush on the idea (the idea) of this girl and 14) idly hope to one day run into her so you could ask her about the poem she painted on the side of her car, even if it is a bit fourteen-year-old-high-school-girl-who-hearts-Trent-Reznor, and even if the poem itself seems to indicate maybe that she is Waiting for Someone, not a metaphorical potential someone but some jackass who moved across the country or has cancer or something, which would really kill things real quick now huh.
Anyway, of course the moment I realized that it was her I 15) froze up with crippling anxiety, worse than any I have experienced in the 16) multiple times I have recently enjoyed its familiar company. As if this were not enough, the most damning evidence that I am one sorry-ass fucking indie kid at heart, still: I 17) did in fact decide on seeing her that she didn't look indie enough and so that it 18) wouldn't be worth it anyway.
Yes, I did go home in shame. To feel better I put on 19) the Geto Boys.
I recently acquired a tape deck from Jeff. As my CD player is still broken, the tape deck has made a welcome addition to the stereo in my room. Unfortunately, though, I've had to subsist on a handful of tapes I had around in my office at work. All good tapes, but I'm tiring of them more quickly than I expected. So tonight I copied a disc of Louis Armstrong Hot Fives and Sevens recordings onto an extra tape, using my roommate's stereo. I'm not totally sure why. I've enjoyed listening to the music since I bought it, but not that much; I still need time to figure it out, get used to it. And that is not at all what I intend to do tonight. I want some guaranteed comfort. And yet here I am, listening to Louis Armstrong. I suppose it will do. I'm pretending like I've got an old-timey radio.
If you live in the Twin Cities, you may be interested in the Merriam Park Neighbors for Peace, whose website contains information about a march scheduled for Saturday near Macalester (where I live), and other protest events before Saturday.
Good lord, I swear this Ted Leo and the Pharmacists track sounded like "Dust in the Wind" there for a very long second.
And then it sounded like it again.
My seven favorite rap tracks of the moment:
Cee-Lo - "Big Ole Words (Damn)"
Clipse - "When the Last Time"
Ice Cube - "Down for Whatever"
Killer Mike f. Big Boi - "A.D.I.D.A.S."
Mobb Deep - "Survival of the Fittest"
Nas - "N.Y. State of Mind"
The Notorious B.I.G. - "Things Done Changed"
My seven favorite dance tracks of the moment:
Akufen - "Deck the House (Herbert Stops Like This Mix)"
Basement Jaxx - "I Want U"
Herbert - "The Audience"
Luomo - "Tessio"
MRI - "Tied to the 80s"
Recloose - "Can't Take It (Herbert's Some Dumb Dub)"
Superpitcher - "Tomorrow"
Why only seven of each? Because I couldn't go on. But I wanted to see how long I could go on, so that's OK.
Yes, I know the dance selection is notably limited: three Herbert tracks (one original, two remixes), five or six (loosely, now) microhouse tracks, three on Force Tracks. Don't think that I'm just caught up in a particular interest at the moment. That might imply that there's much other dance that I really listen to, which is not true.
Killer Mike, you may remember, did a verse on one of the new singles on the Outkast best-of, "The Whole World". The second (?) single from his own album fucking bangs. There's some kind of toy piano or jack-in-the-box melody from time to time, but mostly it's big hollow-sounding fuzzy dirty bass pulses, four on the same pitch then another thing, over and over. So in the middle, when right under the lyric, "took 'The Whole World' and murdered that shit," the "Whole World" beat plays for about two seconds, er, something happens. I don't know what. The two seconds is just long enough to set me up to be excited to hear the "Whole World" beat, to recognize it as oh, it's that. But it's taken away so fast that I'm a little shocked and confused.
If I still owe you a response to a recent (or even three month old) message, don't worry, I haven't forgotten it. Chances are I think of it, and what exactly to say in response, quite frequently. Things have just gotten away from me, a bit.
"Xenia told me once that when she was a child in Alaska, she and her friends had a club and there was only one rule: No silliness."
Incidentally, I just received Silence as a lovely gift from Tanya. I couldn't be happier, especially as I've had the book on my mind (or rather the idea to read the book) often in the past few months.
(I get the impression Cage would have happily been able to follow Wittgenstein's suggestion that an entire book of philosophy - or in Cage's case, a book on music, or whatever, a book on both, or neither - might be written consisting of only questions, or only jokes. Happily, that is, aside from thinking it would be more interesting to not write a book consisting of only one thing.)