ypsilanti's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- bring me weasel this was just about the best christmas in history. for one, i stayed up super late talking online and looking for interesting webpages.. i can't believe it, but there's actually an official "E L Fudge" webpage. holy fuck. it's not called anything as obvious or amazing as elfudge.com, (although www.powerwheels.com does exist and is just about as awesome..) but any search engine will take you there if you simply type in elfudge.. you know the drill. all my friends were online, and i kept on blinking, maybe due to staring at a screen for too long, but it was weird because each time i blinked i felt like i was waking up somehow.. some new dream begining and another one fading away. i finally lay down at about 4am, listening to kind of bad canadian indie rock and for some reason really upset, thinking about all the things i don't seem to be able to fix, or things i can't seem to let go of. it's so hard to make arrangements with yourself, let alone anyone else. i remember falling asleep feeling so detatched and unable to get over all these walls, walls between communication, or just plain rifts in friendships that have meant so much to me and now seem very distant or hopeless. my mom woke me up at about 9 am. belle, the familiy dog was already up and causing insane havok, tearing around the house, you know.. kind of barking and freaking out.. my dad had bought as a christmas present for the dog a stuffed gopher toy that makes a kind of grunting noise when you squeeze it. honestly it was probably the only gift that needed to be presented to ensure an amazing christmas day. i sat, totally tired and absolutely mezmerised by the dog's struggle with the stuffed gopher. my dad would shake it at the dog, making the noise and belle would begin jumping and shaking remarkably, barking and howling until he threw the toy. belle would then go to retrieve, attacking the gopher and subsequently triggering it's signature squeak sound, which would only enrage and befuddle the poor hound even furthur. eventually the confused beast would look up, a sad and somewhat hurt expression on it's face, jaws still clenched around the lifeless likeness of a gopher. seeking direction. some sort of answer. my father would set the poor worried dog's mind at ease by saying "Belle! Bring me weasel!".. at which point the hound would happily bring the toy back over to my dad and repeat the whole process. it was an absolutely stunning ballet of subtlety and daring. a really brave preformance piece, flawless in it's blunt statement and deft delivery.. i mean "Bring Me Weasel"?? oh my god.. the symbolism and irony is downright shattering. i could have sat there entralled all day. i always get kind of sad when holidays and other specialy designed days of pre-planned celebration come around. my endless struggle with a need to not own more than is neccessary, and my strong (sometimes conflicting) feelings about wastefulness and possessions.. at no time are these wearying feelings better highlighted than on christmas, birthdays and in times of transition. i was happy to try to communicate the complexity of my feelings about these matters to my family, and for the most part, they understood and only got me things i really really could use or needed. a nice pair of pajamas, a bunch of film and blank tapes, a sweater which is strikingly similar to the one always worn by shawn gates in his years of early Jaks glory.. really, i opened up the box and immediately imagined endless future comments or questions. "Is that Shawn's old sweater? Well, it looks just like it.." it was hilarious to open up a box that had a black hooded sweatshirt COMPLETELY IDENTICAL TO THE ONE I WAS WEARING ALREADY. likewise funny to get a book of select ee cummings poems from my aunt, and then receive a huge book containing everything he ever wrote from my mom and dad. i couldn't really tell if i was happy or sad or confused or annoyed or anything. too little sleep and no dreams to build a day around. it was nice to be around my family, though. and i missed my friends so much, wishing that maybe someday i would be spending this sort of time or this sort of holiday with all of them.. maybe not even christmas, or any date that would stick out ahead of time or need to be remembered.. just looking forward to times of togetherness and sharing that could never be planned or shopped for. last christmas eve i worked all day, and had to work again the day after the holiday. i ended up going out to pennsylvania that weekend to see my parents and make up for the lost official holiday time, but that few days was spent in michigan. most of my friends were already back at their respective family homes or somewhere far away. we hung out for the first time, really. first at my house, where we watched a movie and kind of wondered what to say to each other. then at your house, where you had actually moved into the room i used to stay in.. watching another movie, showing me your photos, still wondering if there was more to say, or what, if so. it was strange and somehow equal parts boring and nervewracking. like there was something hovering around the room (already very much full of ghosts and old air) but this hovering apparition wasn't really concerned with us, just kind of there and making us very much aware of it's presence, for what (or whatever) it was worth, or whatever. today after presents were opened and the true meaning of christmas was again made satisfactoraly clear, i went back upstairs and lay back down. there was caffeine rushing through my blood, taken to keep me awake and non-aggitated through the morning's ceremonies. i lay in bed, jittery but still exhausted, a thousand future plans and former memories colliding at any given speed. the first pole record was playing, clicking and popping with just as many memory incitations. i eventually fell asleep and dreamed of you, exactly a year from that strange and static night in my old room. we were in some sort of opera hall, waiting in a line that seemed like a cross between waiting at the bank to cash checks on friday and showing yourself to a parole board to receive judgement. you ran up, cutting in line, but stopping to say hello.. kind of sharp and unfriendly, but still eager to talk and catch up. you're getting married. you're surprised you hadn't heard from me for such a long time.. ok, gotta go. judgement awaits. i woke up again at about four in the afternoon, my new pajamas having taken me through the first of what i hope to be many many dreams and visions. it seems like i've spent a lot of my life rebuilding. it's been a theme. like.. ok, something went terribly wrong, the only thing left to do is rebuild.. something about that feels like a rip off to me, at least these past few weeks. i think i would rather build... scrap over all these half-finished, phantom filled "rebuildings" and build something new right on top of them, cementing the past into itself where it belongs. it feels kind of done in some ways, or like it always could be.. just another choice. i wonder so much about returning home, and if it will be something new, an endless night, a revisitation, a reminder, a rebuilding or some sort of uncanny revolution in a seven square mile paper cup. i'd rather start all over again. ******* listen to: pole, julie doiron/wooden stars, chris bell, francois hardy, godzuki, andrew wk, sonny murray "sonny's time now", don't give up, dancecard. 7:00pm - 12.25.00 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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