oh, what a nice sky. it was pretty weird, too. i kept waiting
for the sun to poke out from behind the clouds but after a while
i figured the clouds were forming right there in front of it
and then trailing off to the right, where i could see them raining
far in the distance, the whole
cycle playing out
before my very eyes, the unopened 12x12 of
PBR in backpack on
park bench beside me. // not too many people at
i was there to meet jed. i pulled the hoody up for warmth and thought
tangentially, "now i'm invisible." more and more lately i have been
enjoying the illusion of nonexistence, a dematerialization experiment.
// well, i must have been doing something right, cz jed didn't see me.
// i rode up up up the hill and let myself in through his back door. i
called and he said he'd seen and not seen me, thought i was 2 small
people huddled together, which isn't too far from how i sometimes feel:
unselfconscious engaged participant + egomaniacal observer of self.
// we listened to the previous evening's CD of voicemail recordings.
(we didn't have any other recorder, so we used his phone to record
songs up to three minutes long on my and sarah's message service.)
// bill spence and dylan neuwirth came over. we went in the basement
and tore it up for a while as sarah tinkled keys and chrystya sang.
we broke all the strings on the guitar but kept playing it; the bass was
down to two and even that was twice what we used. by then, of course,
the 12-pack of PBR was opened, drained, gone. kill tv, long live