Entry from Monday May 12 2008

11:30 pm
Listening to:
"Burning Photographs" by Ryan Adams
"Machine Gun" by Slowdive
"Perfect" by Smashing Pumpkins
"Asleep" by The Smiths
"Counterfeit Rules" by Snowden
"Faces Down" by Sondre Lerche
"Jams Run Free" by Sonic Youth
"Poor Misguided Fool" by Starsailor
"That Was The Worst Christmas Ever" by Sufjan Stevens

I'm at Rick's Cafe in Virginia Beach
a clove and a cup of coffee.
I'm reading this book Love Is A Mixtape by Rob Sheffield.
It's a memoir about a music journalist who loses his wife at age 31.
For some reason I can relate to him in an unusual way tonight.
I feel his loss and his late night experiences alone. (pg 175)
He has a very detailed memory of his life
just before and after his wife dies.

After 1 am, insomniacs start to fill up the booths.
Rick's brings in the rugged type (young and old);
Vabeach natives satisfied with their outcast status.
A few sit with company
but most sit alone with coffee and cigarettes

reading, writing, thinking, napping,
and sometimes just sitting there

like they're repressing something that refuses to come out.
There's an atmosphere here that I can connect with very well.
One would rather spend time at a place like this
than at home where there seem to be more distractions
and reminders of things that need to be done
or things already done that don't need reminding of.
The seat I sit in...
I know that someone else has sat in this same seat
to relax, reflect, or repress.
I can feel their reasons for being here.
I take comfort in knowing this.
Misery loves company.


The Funeral

Entry from Monday, October 27, 2008

Listening to:

"The Funeral" by Band of Horses
"Colorblind" by The Counting Crows
"Cannons" by Jeremy Enigk
"Heartbeats" by Jose Gonzales (originally by The Knife)

Music is the only thing that keeps me sane.

It moves me in many ways.
It teaches me to love and adore,
to hate and regret,
to feel and hurt,
to capture and release,
to think and let go.
My whole life is embedded in the music I listen to;
all my experiences are wrapped in these songs.
Every time I open one up I am connected to the people in them,
and the places I've been.

My heart is heavy right now.
The uncertainty of the future.
The person I'm becoming.
The reputation I'm making.
I've done so many things I can't take back.
I've given so much of myself I can't get back.
I should be grateful of all that's been given to me,
all that I've seen.
I'm missing something.
Every now and then,
I feel it.
I'm like a plant missing sunlight.
Moses, my cat, lays next to me satisfied.
I was gone for a week,
out of town.
My parents were in Florida seeing my Grandma in her last waking hours.
Moses was left in the house by himself.
Being back home, he is at peace now.
He needs me.
I love him.
We're connected.
To be needed by someone gives me a good feeling.
I want people to need me.
But sometimes I need someone.