I felt angry because the software I rely on to work updated and then began to spinning beachball itself to oblivion. And a friend of mine was late to a meeting by an hour. And I sat there in the sun trying to read a book but I just re-read the same line over and over again about Charlemagne and Charles the V and his failures at containing the Protestant movement and how the Thirty Years War - well I don't know what really happened because I just re-read that part over and over.
That was four hours ago, I was angry for three. But then I drove back to my neighborhood and parked and got out and walked around the blocks for a while and went home and cooked funny looking pasta and my roommate Evan let me use his prosciutto and I mixed that shit in with butter and gorgonzola cheese and it was bougie as fuck and dank and we thought out loud about celebrities and how far looks will take a person through life and how tragically unfair it is for the ugly.
And then I'm sittin here right now and feeling calmer and listening to the sound of a morning in the amazon forest with that Kelela The High track on repeat coz this one is a welcomed parasite I'm gonna let simmer in the mind for a while. You know what they say about the 88th listen.
The director of my architecture program back at Stanford followed me on Instagram today and the first thing he got to look at is my photo of a knife stabbed through a menthol Marlboro. I hope he doesn't judge - but whatever, he knows me - it's all fine - it just make sense - older people read us as easily as we would a children's book. Reading between the lines for a novel only 25 years old must be pretty damn predictable to a 50 year old soul.
I never knew, I never cared
I wonder how we came to this
I play it over in my head
You're watching video instead
And we'd do anything for the high
Must you leave now
Why must you leave now
That's what you said
No idea what this story must refer to. Something heart breaking probs. Says she was born in 1983. So what, 32? Man, so much more time.
I found a folded note in one of my old journals today. It was some draft of a love letter to this girl before she moved away. I put it in the sleeve of one of my favorite records and gave it to her when I drove her to the airport and said bye. The record was translucent and red. It was called Roses. It looked like strawberry jello frozen into a disc. The song isn't very complex, but it's neon sunshine - and I guess that kinda captures that whole thing quite precisely. We don't really talk anymore - ain't nobody got time for dat. Funny how the strongest feelings kind of just dissolve into Odyssean distant memories.
No reason to stop living life as if it were the Odyssey though.
I'm going to rewatch Jodorowsky's Dune on Friday with a few first-timers.
I wonder what color the fire will be this time?