His days before me

I read parts of J's journal from back in 2002 today. He wrote a letter to a boyfriend that he broke up with back then, pretty much publicly scouring him from being too busy to his inadequate sexual performance. I hope that never happens to me. Otherwise it was kinda cute. He talks about such random things that I'd never think about. I really need to put forth some effort though with this relationship. I'm far too private of a person to ever be good at relationships. We're going out tonight. Maybe I'll try to open up a bit.

Transition

I've been working up Chopin's Nocturne in E Minor for several months, and I'm finally happy with it. It makes me cry when I play it. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever created, and, unlike a painting or a sculpture, I can recreate it whenever I want.

Now I'm on to Debussy's Clair De Lune, also known as the Ocean's 11 fountain piece...bah.

I went shopping today with A. She's great to have as a friend, but it's frustrating how often I feel like I'm talking to a deaf person. I say something about a book I'm reading, she responds with something about climbing. I tell her that, after 4 months, I've worked up a beautiful piece that means a lot to me. She responds by telling me about something that happened to somebody I don't know when she was in middle school. I don't mind listening to her stories...I just wish she'd occasionally return the favor.

I miss J. Even if I am a bad boyfriend.

Double Take

I went to watch dook get beat tonight by my Heels. Midway through the first half I went outside to smoke a cigarette. A little drunk, I went up to the windowpane to fix my hair. In the reflection I saw another smoker, hidden behind a column where I couldn't see him, but perfectly visible in the reflection. I thought he looked too young to be smoking. I turned away from the window and sat on the brick wall across the sidewalk. The boy got up and slowly walked my way. I looked at him and thought he must be about 17. He wore a yellow hoodie, hiding most of his head and body, and longish, dirty blond hair covered his eyes. He was beautiful. Gorgeous. Captivating.

I looked at him for a few seconds. He looked back. He looked sick, maybe stoned. But more, he just looked sad. Like he badly wanted to collapse under the weight of his hoodie. "Smoking's good for the soul," he said. He was stoned. Drunk too. "I guess so," I replied. "Why else would you smoke," he said. He paused, looked at me and smiled, and said, "unless you want to die." I was silent. "Do you want to die?" he asked. "Maybe there are worse things," I vaguely mumbled in response. He looked down and ground a piece of paper nervously under his shoe. "Dying wouldn't be bad. There's nothing here to live for." He looked up. "Why not?" I quietly asked, still mezmerized. "I've looked for truth, and it's nowhere to be found here. Maybe I can find it in death," he said. He looked up then, smiled slightly, turned around, and walked back inside.

I never knew making cheesy, philosophical small talk with a depressed, drug-addicted teenager could be such a beautiful thing.

Fear Culture

"More than three dozen blinking electronic signs...caused a major disruption in the greater Boston area on many levels -- crippling public transportation, causing serious traffic problems, negatively affecting local businesses and perhaps most significantly, costing Boston and surrounding communities thousands of dollars." ~New York Times Online, February 5, 2007;

"[W]e will not surrender our freedoms in America...while you [terrorists] may think you have struck our soul, you haven't touched it; that we are too strong a nation to be carried down by terrorist activity...When the terrorists struck, they wanted to create an atmosphere of fear." ~George W. Bush, September 27, 2001

"Egregiously Invidious" is a really cool phrase.

Good song, but skip to about minute 5 for why Iceland is awesome

New blog...

anonymous this time, for the sake of my reputation.