Futile Horn

06.02.2004 - 11:48 am (plus I think Plato had Goethe's mirror)

I’m in a foul mood because I’m creatively frustrated. A week or two ago was a mess because stuff kept coming to me faster than I can write it down and now my head is nearly empty all together. Doesn’t my subconscious have any sense of pacing? It’s like the sleep thing. I stay awake for two days than sleep for one. Why can’t I just sleep eight hours a day like a normal human being?

I’m posting this entry to kill time until I have to go to the airport. So not only did my CD tray EAT a CD rending my stereo damn near useless (yeah, the radio and phonograph still work but…), but the replacement stereo I thought I had a in garage is broken. Given to me by my dad who didn’t know it was given to him used with a slack jawed tape deck full of god damn Bob fuckin’ Seger. How cruel is this universe? Adding insult to injury with Bob Seger’s Greatest Hits Volume II.

The lyric set for the song I’m working on is vast and unwieldy. The music is vaguely rhapsodic and rather clumsy, and something about it makes it feel like the Last Song. I can’t imagine I’ll actually stop writing when I get around to finishing this one (I mean, what the hell else would I do?) but I’ve some weird sense that something is ending. Fortunately I’ve learned when not to trust my feelings because sometimes they are just uninsightful and slow-witted.

I read the Harry Potter book yesterday cus I will probably end up seeing the movie. I thought it was significantly better than the other two. I think it is kind of weird that Latin is the language of magic in that universe. I sort of imagine Cicero in the forum accidentally conjuring monsters while trying to prevent Archias from being deported. Besides, the Romans weren’t particularly known for their wizards. In fact, magic was a capital crime in the Empire. I remember cus I did a paper on Apuleius’ Apology back in college. That turned about to be one of the reads that changed the way I viewed the world forever. Well, how I thought of language forever, which is as good as the same thing. Plus I recall it mentioned the cuntfish. What the hell is a cuntfish? Where do those swim?

I suppose I can put on some pants and go the airport now.

Born to play the funky céilí,
Futile Horn