May 15th, 2004

closeup samurai

(no subject)

when to a place called officeops last night to see andrew's band "guns on high street" play. & play they did, in a cage, while we roller skated around them. drinking cans of yuengling. i guess the venue is pretty multi-purpose, teaching art classes & shit during the day. they had the greatest bathrooms, though- looking like 70s era elementry school stalls & urinals. skating is weird, socially, because there are all these conflicting opinions about fellow skaters. if someone wobbles in front of you, you think "whatever, thats fine, who the fuck knows how to skate properly? not me!" but sometimes you just wanna shout "stop fucking waving your arms around, jack-off!" or "stop fucking holding hands! you are clotheslineing everybody who is trying to skate!"

carla showed up after andrew's set, & was angry with him for some reason i never figured out. which is fine, since jenny & i were planning on leaving at 11:30, because the L train stopped working at 12:01, or so the signs said. of course, while we waited for the L, a yellow cleaning train-dragon came by & shouted at us "no more trains!" leaving us fucking stranded in williamsburg. while we debated our next move, we met "elizabeth," who guided us to the J & M trains. whats with me & playing raider of the lost subways lately? anyhow, we took the J, did a little dance, made a little love, got down tonight, & finally ended up getting home at 1:50 am. thanks mta for a big fucking cow-pie! it was steaming! oh, & don't let me forget the part where the M train rode on the Q track & we ended up having to walk home from the 7th ave. stop. steaming, i'm telling you.

but i had fun. as much as i hate williamsburg, i had been really wanting to see andrew play. & roller skating totally ameliorated the lameness of the hood. also, we did get to see the cops totally ignore people gesturing for their help as some other dude got mugged or whatever (except the dude who looked like he was punching him in the face went home with him? domestic, i guess). also along the way was the most annoying driver ever, who kept repeating herself even though we all kept telling her we didn't know where the fuck bogart street was. she then sweared at us. during the long walk to the J M i also had a small flask of vodka which jenny so thoughtfully provided. & my new issue of dragon magazine to read on the train! so i'm not complaining so much.
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i'll storm the parliment of smokeless fire.

its strange how much exhaustion can seep into so small a form. fucking sack of flesh. i appreciate the cleverness of primates as compared to mollusks & mountains, but it all seems so small. i play on a cosmic fucking scale, or at the very least aspire to. i mean, this is a hell of a nutshell to be bounded in, for a king of infinte space. i walk a few million city blocks & wake up at eight thirty (8:30) & you know what? i get fucking tired. but not so tired that the thought of wiping out all the motes in heaven, of blotting every star with inky nothing, doesn't bring a smile to my face. i'm split open like a great white's ear to ear. toothy grin, courtesy misfortune (tm).
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