Journal of Pirate Lingo*


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* not an actual journal
of pirate lingo

12.18.04 - 1103420375

i get low sometimes, like i'm trying to escape... so long since i've said anything unconstrained. a lot of times i don't even know what i think till i write it. think about relationships that soured, friendships that withered. all the people who formed me and only some of them are still around. where's todd ashley, my best friend in 5th grade? where's linsey wirt, the first girl i fell for? or holly cantrell, to whom i wrote endless letters? where's kenny, who in 7th grade on a field trip to the shakespeare festival in utah complained loudly, "teacher... my peer group is rejecting me." still one of the funniest things ever said, in my mind. then later, at boy's state-- kenny could burp for a solid half hour.

i'm drunk etc... liska's asleep... listening to blur "miss america", a complex conjugation of euro memories and dana memories, this constant re-engagement with the past. thoughts of re-engagement, no action yet. wanting to keep connections but wondering what the statute of limitations is, whether some gaps are too vast to bridge.

I had a shwarma at Truly Mediterranean on 16th, sat there eating my sandwich listening to Arabic music, thinking this little pocket of exotic in SF would soon turn inside out. The exotic will become the norm. I want to be somewhere that is not home and not familiar and not entirely comfortable-- I want to see someplace new. I can't escape without knowing where to escape to. I can't live in the past and I have to plot the future

Everyone's an arrow aimed. AJ's in law school, Triet's in law school, Laura, Angi, Jenny, Elio, Brad, David, Anne, Takaki are down the PhD path... where am I? I work somebody else's dream job. I don't have dreams enough on my own.

San Franciso was founded when? 1850's? Less than 200 years old. Jerusalem, Jericho... oldest city in the world. 10000 years. Is it there in the atmosphere? What do I want out of this trip? Where to go? What is missing?

Gymnopédies: 3ème. Lent et grave

He dies in 1925, before WWII... Eric Satie pioneered "furniture music." What do you think ? If it's background music is it a failure to communicate? Music is another escape route, like comedy, like dvds, like reading, like spilling words that emerge mysteriously from some untouchable area within and here they are. And I could edit but the point is I'm like a radio transmitter, we all are, these thoughts flow endlessly, a tap on mental processes of anyone other than me would say so much...

None of us are snowflakes, yet all of us are islands

Something needs to change before I'm old and full of regrets. An earthquake, tidal wave, push down the stairs... whose lives have I touched, does it matter ?

This part of me is still 16. I'll drink till sleep , not remembering dreams, the "original fiction." It seems one should strive to minimize regrets. If I could I'd pray for guidance.

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