(no subject)
I wake up early, around 7 or so, and stay in bed detirmined to sleep more. In the process I have a random lucid dream during that period (they usually only happen in circumstances where I'm asleep for 15 or so minutes). In it, I see my dead cat roaming around and, then realizing I'm dreaming, and attempt to move around. Waking life creeps in, and as much as I try to stand up, I continue to crouch until, as I wake, I realize I'm trying to stand up. Oh well. I try to sleep some more for far too long, until 12:15 or so.
After eating and bathing I take Old Blue down the road with a load of fruit from our trees and set up at the corner once occupied by a local country store, now nothing but a shell of its past awaiting oil-related detox to turn it into a fucking minimall. Anyways, so I set up and wait, read a National Geographic about the chemical reactions of love related to oxycotin, mental illness, etc. There was also an interesting article on the Voyager missions. Also read the paper looking for a job (if anyone has any leads, I would much appreciate it). All the while I listen to the TG24 boxset I ripped to me IPod. Groovy.
Afterwards, I go home and read the internet a bit more, also renewing my videos from the library (Metropolis and Are You Being Served?). Then I go out in the evening to Travis's new apartment, bringing some paper and my digital camera. Travis managed to borrow a typewriter off of Cole (or off of Zach through Cole, maybe), and after a bit of tinkering I finish off the insert. Then I take pictures of all of the 50 handdrawn covers, just for documentary purposes. Travis and Sarah recommend many good books, then I go off downtown.
Dave talked about coming downtown, so me and Beck wait in the tavern. Beck talks to an employee of the tavern for a good long time, a very nice guy I get no weird vibes off of. I bounce between the tavern and Backstreets while The Wobbly Toms play in Backstreets: there weren't many to anyone I knew well in Backstreets, and Beck seemed rather occupied. Towards the end we realized we came down far to early for Dave, and decided to head on back. A friend of Beck's coworker Paul needed a ride home, so I drove him down south of town before going home.
At home, I scan the typewriter paper and arrange for the printouts of the inserts while watching Conan (he's going to Finland and I want to join him), all while continuing where I left off in that TG24 boxset on my IPod. Once they are all printed out, I will collect them, dig a hole, throw them in the hole, pour lemon juice on them, bury them for a night with the seeds and the rinds of the lemons, then dig them out again and clean them. All of this is towards the aesthetic idea of premature aging-I've never done this before, though, so I guess I'll just have to accept what I get. I told this to Beck and she suggested the idea of burying them as a balancing means, of connecting to the ground, the earth, as a means of stabilization or rebirth. Or just making them dirty (but not in that Aguilera kind of way).