ypsilanti's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- blackout i stood up too quick while i was changing something on the four-track, and i hit my head on the same old piece of wood that's been sticking down from the ceiling in the basement since i lived down there six seasons ago. ouch! it really hurt like a motherfucker, and kind of rendered me dizzy and starry-eyed for the rest of the night. what a drag. my best friends in the world are all around me, though. i showed up to wish you a happy birthday, maybe worry everyone at the table about my possible head injury and then walk home. a few hours later, you brought me back the leftovers. i love you. i love you living in my town, and i love all the friends that really got to know who i was, and me them, yet we kept each other. think of all the people that seemed so amazing and beautiful when you were getting to know them.. did you ever finish getting to know them? did you know who they were? i found myself summersaulting through homes and handholdings, first kisses that doubled as final kisses, long letters that should have been postcards, and vice versa, of course, all because the more i knew of any given person, or the more they knew of me... the less appealing or good the whole thing seemed. and then there were those who without a sound or a thought of my own, i just knew and always knew they would be always a part of my life. and every part, too. a friend at the carnival and in the emergency room, holding hands for the sweetest secrets and for the most terrifying screaming matches. those people i didn't get to know, i just knew. intuition is a strange motherfucker. sometimes so wrong and ridiculous. sometimes it knows when you think you know better. quit thinking, maybe just accept what is happening all around. when i was in highschool i took a bunch of drugs and freaked out while i was driving home. i started looking in the rearview mirror and giving myself a pep-talk. i guess i'd seen enough movies where people do that sort of thing. i guess i believed if i started talking to myself in a real stern and knowledgabe tone i could undo and maybe even reverse the effects of the chemicals i'd put in my bloodstream, effectively talking myself down and getting it together to hang out high in front of my parents, which i was driving home to do.. "Ok, man, you HAVE GOT TO JUST CALM DOWN AND DRIVE! just CONTROL YOURSELF ANNNNSSDSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS XX RR XX RR Cloo..." without fail, four seconds into every super-stern talking to i started to give myself, i would become distracted, paranoid. i would forget what was going on and my thoughts would completely melt away, leaving me shocked and terrified and wondering where i was, and why i was driving. although my heart was beating faster than anyone's ever should, and although i was near catatonic with fear and freakout, somewhere in the back of my mind, while it was happening i thought the whole thing was amazingly funny. here i was trying to get my thing together, but i couldn't even get gettingmythingtogether together. fuck. stop trying. just start. flashpapr went out east again. i spent too much of the week in my head, and in my world in michigan while i was in new york. but there's now songs about the ypsilanti bus system stuck in the heads of brooklyn hipsters, so my work is done here. i know i've got serious problems when i can't motivate myself to make a mixtape. i made so many fucking mixtapes in highschool, and then even more when i started collecting records... when i started working at the record store.. watch out, it's all over. i think from 1994-2000 i must have made around 700 mix tapes for people, no exaggeration, no joke. from january to july of this year i think i managed to make 5. this means there has been trouble. children in trouble. somehow i feel it coming back, though. in the past couple days i've gotten about five tapes at least in some assemblence of completion, if not totally done, with cool covers and everything. maybe i'm exposing myself as a record store idiot, but when you're a painter you paint your loved ones beautiful pictures. when you're a chiropractor, you crack everyone's back in the most amazing and unfathomable way, and they feel love as the air bubbles cruch out of their refreshed joints. when you have spent all your should-have-been-college years and all your should-have-been-out-there-in-the-dark-time finding out which 25cent thrift store records only LOOK like they should suck, but are actually quite good... you make your loved ones mix tapes. speaking of mixtapes, lovesick is on a new compilation that has 2 compact discs with songs from almost every hardcore band i have ever cared about. seriously, four years ago, and ever since, most of the bands that we have been listening to and learning from, we now share space with on a document of what the scene has been like for a while. this makes me flip, and i can't really even explain how i feel about it. holy fuck. don't die, just keep doing what you're doing. all my friends in new york were like.. "we know it's rough sometimes, but you really have to keep going, keep moving. keeping jive alive, so to speak.." i know you're tired. i know you're tired. don't sleep. i think i'm subconsiously also trying to stay awake because i know you're not supposed to sleep when you get a concusion. no, i don't have a concusion. do i? no... i mean... well.. no, absolutely not. except.. free rides on the bus, another chance for us to advance. free rides on the five in the summertime, your hand in my hand. free rides on the four. back and forth. south and north and everywhere. sunshine, candybars, hidden stars and all of our friends are there. free rides on the bus, another chance for us. fall asleep in my arms. dream above the car alarms, siren songs. tell me all about all of your ice-cream hearts. and you are my best friend. you are the most beautiful thing i keep inside my heart. ******* listen to: prince, left banke, ida, elizabeth cotten, OFFICIAL MOTION PICTURE SOUNDTRACK TO AMERICAN PIE 2, "Key Lime Pie", andrew wk, wolf eyes, erase errata, petty crime, emergency, lightning bolt, bride of nono, red or dead, built to spill, joy division, andrew cyril, sonny murray, the velvet underground (left channel only), bob dylan, index, nico, marriane faithful, sandie shaw, francoise hardy, love, luv'd ones, rolling stones, the new nights. 2:41 a.m. - 8.27.01 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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