Futile Horn

05.18.2003 - 6:42 pm (where everyone's a green ninja)

We took Eugene to his surprise birthday dinner yesterday. I think most mortals in his condition would have caught on, but he can be miraculous oblivious when he wants to be. We went to an Italian place where I had some righteous antipasta and lobster ravioli. Afterwards we tried to figure out where we were going to head next, but Eugene wouldn't 'fess up about the place he wanted to go. He had been talking for two weeks about going that very night to a bar up in Westchester, but he kept asking me where I (out of the 15 people present) wanted to go. So I said, "Goddamn it, I want to go to the [bar x]" (pardon me, but I don't want any hits for that shit hole), and became very belligerent until he finally conceded to go to the bar he wanted to go to in the first place. That's just the kind of guy he is. You love him, but he's a ninny.

If I failed to mention it last week, I find that being in crowds made up of too many people I don't know induces a death wish. Really. For reasons I don't think I quiet understand, it makes me quite depressed.

Everyday I've been reading passages out of Latin exercise book as well as poems from Horace's Carmina. It just so happened that the exercise and the poem I had lined up for today were the exact same thing. Funny that. It's like how my sister's federal income tax return was exactly what she owed in state taxes. The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh.

I think I wrote a sonnet partially about that once. I'd share, but I see no reason why we all have to suffer the unbearable heaviness felt under the infinite returns of my past.

Now that I think about it, it's nothing like the tax thing.

Anyways, I'd say something about the poem, but I looked through my old entries and discovered that I already [mis]translated it here when I bought the book about a year ago. I've also noticed I might be in danger of being some sort of geek.

Today I decided to drive up and get myself some new guitar strings, but I only had a vague idea of how to get there, and after driving around for an hour I went home. I had the address, and surely I must have passed it and somehow didn't see it. I got lost a few times too. All the streets are one way around there and the lights take forever to turn. I feel like such a loser though; I tried to buy strings and failed.

I need to write a new song. For my own mental health. I feel emotionally worn down, and sometimes that helps. Sometimes it makes it worse, but you have to take your chances. There's no guidebook I know of about self-managing mental illness.

My hair is sticking straight up.

Born to play the funky céilí,
Futile Horn