ypsilanti's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- kid world back in michigan under bright and broken midwestern skies. turned twenty-four years old on sunday night. the lovesicks played and amazingly sketchy show with the red shirt brigade, one where there was a sign on the back door of the ex-house reading "Bands: if no one is here by 8pm, someone should probably be back by 9, show by 9:30", and there was some sort of landlord or lawyer or someone with a s.u.v. sitting on the porch waiting for a resident of the house so they could destroy the kid world. there were three cop cars before the first note was struck, but no real altrications and no problems once the show began. very weird. red shirts were great energetic pop, making me think of the good empire state games shows i saw, and how much fun it was to dance around in the knowledge of joy and youth. keyboards and open-c tuned guitars, jumping through hoops made of clouds. we were exhausted and dried-out like candles that had been burning for 30 days straight, but the show that night was on fire, as was the one in grand rapids the previous night. michigan is the best place on earth. or maybe we were effected by our newfound options of eating food non-taco bell and sleeping for more than four hours. whatever fueled us it was a beautiful show, many words and many ideas, kick kick, strum strum, hit hit, yell yell, jump jump, try try. the last two days have gone by in a rapid way, trying to sort out big problems with where i am in reference to living space and mental breakdown, all the while trying to remember what it's like to sleep in the same room every night. last night we hung out and talked about the year behind us, how we were both moving in altitude and aptitude, our misunderstandings and our venom, how it's ok, how it totally hurts, what must we do? i went home and made you a tape, probably because that's what i know how to do better than anything. fell asleep on the floor yet again and woke up late to part 2 of a 3 part root canal. ow, it hurts so bad. we hung out and had lunch, watched a video of the show in new york last february. it was pretty, we really look different now. our hair all long and disgusting, our winter furs. we picked up your nervous friend and went to the stupid but entertaining movie where they make fun of every other stupid movie. it feels good to move so slow today. called you in new york and you said you'd love to sing a song on the next saturday looks good to me record. i'm really excited about that. wrote to you about the tape(s) and photograph you mailed me for my birthday. the power of some words and the failures of others. damn. i still sing weakerthans songs in my eyes before they're written. we both do. right now i'm afraid to fall asleep because i know i'll wake up with blood in my mouth and it hurts to smile even. so i'm going to get another coffee and make another record. left two messages on your machine, hope to hear from you tonight. everywhere i go it's dingy red baseball caps worn backwards on heads of car spinners and word throwers. focusing on the ground, scattered shards of glass and every mean word or proposed intimidation that public school and private upbringing gave to me. reflections of a hatred and ignorance that is just as much a part of this area as the unmistakeable beauty that occurs nowhere else, either. there's the cruel and unusual teenager in my rear-view mirror, behind me in a car shouting and boiling, venom and eminem. then in front of me and above me there's all the glory of how slowly the clouds move across the sky, a constant reminder of how much bigger the world is that you and me. focus. 00:05:38 - 2000-08-09 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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