we're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year.

28 July 2001

Just very quick before I go to bed...

Hemlock was fine. But I almost fainted during the show.

So you know how when you're about to pass out, your ears start to ring interally, past all the noise, and your eyes get blurry, and you feel like you're going to throw up? That was me for about 5 minutes, and I stayed standing the entire time. I flexed my hands to get blood circulating, breathed in deep to get oxygen to my body, and closed my eyes amid all the noise, wanting to be at home in bed, and told it all to stop. And then after five minutes, it stopped.

I don't know if something was slipped into my drink, but all I know is that it wasn't anything I ate. That's for damn sure.

.the girl who is not very 1:21 AM [+].

27 July 2001

I finsished a story last night. It's a really weird one, the first draft's gonna be really strange once I see it on neatly typed paper and see it all and try and make the holes a little smaller.

Oh, and I forgot to add to that list of shows: Hemlock tonight, Paul Oakenfold Sunday, The Roots Monday, Ozomatli Thursday, and Fear Factory next Sunday. I seriously won't be able to hear after next week.

And then there's Boy Hits Car on the 12th with my friends' bands Pull and Notfromhere. I'm so at that show-- and on the guest list, since my friends insisted I be on it. I love this job.

So yeah. Like I'm not deaf enough right now. I won't have eardrums anymore after this month.

.the girl who is not very 2:18 PM [+].

So this entry was supposed to to up last night, but my computer decided it would disconnect and not ever get back on again, so I had to save it to text until today:

Another fairly quiet day. Bought a lot of tickets today for all kinds of stuff in the next couple of weeks. Got a show-- Hemlock-- tomorrow night, one on Sunday (Paul Oakenfold), and Monday (The Roots), and Nat comes home Tuesday, we're all supposed to go out Wednesday night, and Thursday night is another show-- Ozomatli.

So I've been telling all my friends that I've been restless lately. And then the horoscope says:

This simply cannot be the 21st century - can it? We knew, decades ago how things would be once we all passed the year 2,000. We'd all wear Star Trek outfits. We'd all have hovercars. And at every mealtime, we'd drop a pill in a glass of water, press a button and "Hey Presto" - there'd be a steaming hot gourmet meal. So? What happened to all of that? Think please, about your big expectation of where your current path is leading. Then think less in terms of radical change, more about gradual growth and plan accordingly.

Maybe I need some kind of new stimulation, a new place for sanctuary outside of my room. I realized today that I really have been writing a lot lately, and it's actual work, getting things finished, filling up lonely pages with insights, stories, and random phrases I pick up. Pages in my notebooks/journals are starting to look like Tori's hand, just filled with random words.

But Dad said something to me this morning as I was heading to work that I've been thinking about all day, even though he says it to me all the time.

He said, "Don't ever grow old, kid."

And you know, it really made sense today for some reason. I know he probably means it in a Don't ever get gray hairs or wrinkles or do stuff that's gonna get you cancer kind of way, not necessarily in a Pete Townsend I hope I die before I get old kind of way. Actually, knowing how goofy (and partially idiot savant-ish) my father is, it's probably both.

It was just something I found funny and anecdotish, and maybe I'll get more into it later. But I really need to get to bed.

Oh, and the old Diaryland entries are all done and up now. The link is in the archive section. Next on Site To Do List: Add new stuff, like poems, and maybe a new story.

.the girl who is not very 2:10 PM [+].

26 July 2001

I don't think I'm going to write very much right now-- I'd rather curl up into bed with my book-- but just to be in here and knowing I'm writing is good.

So I'll have to add Notfromhere and Epstein's Mother to the list of Vegas bands to watch out for. Notfromhere was the band I mentioned earlier who opened up the show last night. Tonight I saw Epstein's Mother at Tom & Jerry's-- with about 20 other people, if that. I get the feeling that in a couple of years I'll be saying, "Yeah, I saw them in a room a little bit bigger than your average bathroom, and got to meet them before all the magic of success happened." It was that kind of vibe. I guess they're doing a mini-tour around the South for exec types. I wish them luck.

I was formatting journal entries for the archive today, and I realized that two staples of my life are karma and synchronicity. I've had people argue with me about those two things, mainly because they didn't believe either one of those concepts, and wanted to light me up about it. Those words just echo everywhere in my life-- I get to the point now where I think Why should I even deny that these things have pull in my life? Okay, I'm rambling.

Um. Went to a slam tonight, and wrote this during. I think I might revise it if I really want to go back to it.

his voice is dull
like a junkies' spoon
blackened from too many hits
and too many scars
left behind, self-inflicted
from force of habit.
he is quiet
like a broken down building,
his words the rooms, empty,
his esteem the hallway
where the paint is flaking off,
and the foundation's stripped:
from the outside,
it looks like someone else did it,
even though his fingerprints
left a hell of a mess behind.
he's awaiting his own destruction,
letting someone else push the plunger.
he's talking about checking in with me,
seeing how I am
but I can't bring myself
to tell him
I'm am not his superintendent.
I am not
the one you call
when your sink leaks
and the stove stops heating
water for tea.
Me and I
are suicide words
we both culture in abundance,
and maybe you're waiting
to take that last hit
of pain
ecstacy like rain on the nerves,
and I
am neither drug nor angel:
just a voice
at the other end of the hall
leaving footprints behind
as I run down the stairs
out into the street,
and watch your frame
crumble
like the flick
of a lighter.

.the girl who is not very 1:19 AM [+].

25 July 2001

Last night reaffirmed my faith in the local scene. I was at probably the best show I've seen this far-- and only one band was actually local. But the locals kicked ass, and I'm not just saying that because they're my friends. I don't know what I was expecting when they told me about their band; but I saw them last night, and their energy, and I kept thinking Wow.

And I saw jonah's onelinedrawing. Holy shit was he good. I was fucking melted into the ground he was so good.

I'll get into it later. I just wanted to put it down here so I can remind myself.

.the girl who is not very 1:16 PM [+].

23 July 2001

I just wrote in here, but that was hours ago. It feels like last night.

Made a visit to CityLife today, just to say hi, and I walked out with a big handful of CDs and a couple of story ideas I might be doing soon. Meanwhile there's CDs I want to listen to just to listen to that I've acquired. I'm thinking that sometime soon, I seriously just need to build a room that's a music room to house the probably 600+ and growing collection I've already got.

So much stuff. I love it. It's keeping my head busy while I write, which is good. Plus it's just more stuff to review.

The funniest thing probably was sitting there with my editor for about 15 minutes talking about the new Tori record-- he's more excited about it than I am, which is really weird because Tori's not really his cup of tea. He wants to do a huge article on it. I think he should do what he did with the Radiohead record-- have all the reviewers do it and put up all our different opinions on it. That way I can listen to it before anyone else. Just kidding. We both think this is going to be a pivotal album, both for Tori herself and for the whole national scene in general. People are going to start talking about music again, making people think about it again. That Eminem cover is just fucking creepy.

And I'm going to be heading out again soon. It's poetry tonight. I don't know if I'm going to read anything tonight since I have nothing new poetry wise. We'll see.

.the girl who is not very 6:00 PM [+].

Oh, and this too. I think it's what I was originally going to write about-- I got in a page and a half at Roma last night. I fucking rule.

But I still haven't done the review I've been putting off for the past couple of days.

.the girl who is not very 12:25 PM [+].

Finished The Hobbit. Next on the plate is Fellowship Of The Ring, which I noticed is much bigger. Um.

There was something I was just going to put after that, and I can't remember. Dammit.

What's the theme lately... oh yes, people and how they change. I'm starting to see that there are two people who change: The kind where after while you notice "Wow, look at you, you look so different (or seem so different). That's cool. I never noticed that before." And then there's the kind of person who changes just to get attention. I mean, they do something really drastic (or even stupid, which might be the same thing) to their appearance or the crowd they hang with just as a desperate attempt to have people give them pity.

Getting this attention may come in many forms, like hurting themselves-- cutting or suicide attempts being the immediate reasons, getting worse into things like having abortions (yes, more than one, I've seen girls do it); or they'll write an email or poem or letter of some sort and send it to you, hoping it'll make clear their problems, usually saying at the end to stay away when in fact they want the opposite.

People like to have drama in their life. I used to be like that in high school, in the peak of my teen angst, always looking for something to be angry about-- society's view on body image, people's opinions of poets, and my father's infidelity being the three main subjects I wrote about back then-- and even though I had a very boring childhood I felt as if these things brought me some kind of validity in the suburban world, even though I knew quite clearly there were people that were much worse off than I was. I was looking for something to rage against, even though I didn't have any real rage-- and even if I think I did, it was channeled out in music and poetry anyway-- so having pain was like a mark of diginity. Look at me, I've got angst. I hurt too, dammit. Watch me bleed. Okay, not literally, but you get my point.

But things change. At least for me, they did. I went to college, met people with real issues, like rape and abuse and drugs, identity crisis and even hate. You realize that your little life is a fucking blessing after that. I used it for stories, kept it in the file of the back of my head. Things happen. People die. Synchronicity becomes part of your vocabulary. Your eyes open wider, your ears are clearer, your head fills with information you didn't think you could hold.

And you grow. You take all the fertile things given to you, even if they're not what you first wanted, and you use them. For me as a writer, they become part of the collective research that's going on in my head. Everything's fair game.

That wasn't quite what I wanted to write about, but it'll have to do.

.the girl who is not very 12:20 PM [+].

22 July 2001

(Still got another 60 or so pages in The Hobbit. It'll get done tonight. I swear.)

So I didn't get inside the mosh pit tonight. I wasn't even close-- stayed up in the balcony with Brett since she wanted to sit, the old fart. In fact, a kid got hurt during opener TSOL, which was a little ironic considering it was just straight punk and not really the hardcore stuff. And a light blew up during The Offspring's set, which stopped things for a bit. Dexter and Noodles did one song acoustically. So that was nice. They had the most scarring intermission-- playing a pre-recorded Mexican tune (which sounded familiar but I couldn't remember who did it), with blowing bubbles, a guy tossing popcorn, and this other quite large fellow with just a thong and a balloon hanging where his dangly bits would be if they weren't tucked into the little thatch of cloth for the thong-thing. It wasn't boring, which I guess was the whole point.

Openers Millencolin were good. I think that was because they're from Sweden, though. Something about non-native English-speakers doing decidedly American music makes it more exotic.

Plus going to shows with Brett is always nice, since we sit there and talk about music stuff in between bands-- tonight we talked about Tori, and Gorillaz, and Emiliana Torrini (our new favorite chick-singer-alternative-thing). And we make fun of people when they walk by, which is too easy to do in this town.

Okay, so I just got a spam mail from PickyWitch@yahoo.com. Very interesting, since I've been wondering who took that name for awhile now. Now I know. And now you know if you get something from that email address, it's not me. Besides, I don't make drugs that make your penis grow. If I knew how to do that, I'd be off in Bali vacationing with my love slaves.

So with that, I'm going off to finish the book and go to bed. Nite.

.the girl who is not very 12:57 AM [+].