Musically, I've been listening to a lot of jazz. Still. Why?
Is it a dead sound? Am I usurping something that has no organic connection to my life experience, aping the breakthroughs of the past out of Ludditic neglect for the dynamism of the present?
Is my connoisseurship an empty posturing? A snobbering?
I try to keep my ego out of it. Who does? Keeps what out of where?
One reason, for sure, is the proliferate nature of the jazz subsphere of the blogosphere....the mines are bearing. Also the way that jazz is sort of and seems always to have been half-obscured to the popular eye, hidden in plain sight. But am I a guardian or a usurper? Or does it matter?
Anyway. I'm starting 'Molloy' by S.B. and it is completely unlike anything I have ever read, and much simpler than I'd imagined-so far, so far that is.
I made my debut playing drums in front of strangers the other day at a bar, sitting in for a song in my friend's honky-tonk/klezmer/country rock band. My non-adherence to the drummer's directive "keep the beat" did not go over so well, but I think there were fun moments, as far as my sensativity to others' perceptions were not obliterated by self-conscioussness. Anyways, nobody got angry and punched me in the face or anything.
Went camping in Big Basin this past weekend and partied in the woods.
Musics coming.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
good evening
Plain as the driven mob and purely displeased, I stood for a while at the back of the line. Light chatter, chalant nonchalance. People passed on the sidewalk, many curious, and everyone watched them going. I think there were several sweaters, sweatshirts, skirts and khaki pants. Maybe a tie or a coat, I can’t tell. Well, we stood there waiting for a good ten minutes, before anything happened. And since I was still the last in the line at the end of that time, I can’t be sure how long anyone else was standing there. Maybe I would have asked if I’d been forced by nonevents to stand there longer. Instead a beard walked out wearing a store brand t shirt matching the decal on the store window. He’d like to take our resumes and apologizes because they can’t see everyone today and he’d hate for us to stand around like this to no avail (I pretended to assume he was talking about everyone but me).
I didn’t give him much of a mug, but I got out of it quickly, and checked a box. Then I drove to the next place, who told me the cross streets of the next place, where I went after that. In between I ate a wrap in the car. I haven’t eaten any meat in about a week. I have smoked some cigarettes. A lot of that (the meat) is due to an inspired series of faux-meatball meatball sandwiches. Today I learned how to play some guitar chords, applied remotely for a small batch of jobs, enjoyed a live jazz piano improvisation, ate with friends, arrived too late for happy hour sushi but in time for $2 beer, offered to drive a friend who’s contacts are starting to act up after all these years, forgot I was wearing glasses when I wasn’t, mutually consoled loved ones about their stance in life, did two pull ups, and listened to the final track on Light as a Feather 2 and a half times. I drove across the city in the full, unimpeded afternoon sun. I told myself and one other person that I wanted to write a blog at least twice a week, or write on a blog or in one or just blog. I encouraged one other person to blog, after reading another person’s blog. I paraphrased Marxist concepts as I understood them, and made an oblique accreditation. I wondered what other people are really like, then I wondered what I am really like. I drove around with the sunroof of my girlfriend’s Mercedes open with my broken bike wheel in the back seat which now is several hundred yards away due to street cleaning (ostensibly: it hasn’t been cleaned) .
I didn’t give him much of a mug, but I got out of it quickly, and checked a box. Then I drove to the next place, who told me the cross streets of the next place, where I went after that. In between I ate a wrap in the car. I haven’t eaten any meat in about a week. I have smoked some cigarettes. A lot of that (the meat) is due to an inspired series of faux-meatball meatball sandwiches. Today I learned how to play some guitar chords, applied remotely for a small batch of jobs, enjoyed a live jazz piano improvisation, ate with friends, arrived too late for happy hour sushi but in time for $2 beer, offered to drive a friend who’s contacts are starting to act up after all these years, forgot I was wearing glasses when I wasn’t, mutually consoled loved ones about their stance in life, did two pull ups, and listened to the final track on Light as a Feather 2 and a half times. I drove across the city in the full, unimpeded afternoon sun. I told myself and one other person that I wanted to write a blog at least twice a week, or write on a blog or in one or just blog. I encouraged one other person to blog, after reading another person’s blog. I paraphrased Marxist concepts as I understood them, and made an oblique accreditation. I wondered what other people are really like, then I wondered what I am really like. I drove around with the sunroof of my girlfriend’s Mercedes open with my broken bike wheel in the back seat which now is several hundred yards away due to street cleaning (ostensibly: it hasn’t been cleaned) .
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