Futile Horn

06.13.2003 - 7:47 am (silver saxophones say I should refuse you)

I've been feeling like crumbs lately because I can't seem to be able to sleep so much as collapse from exhaustion from time to time. I missed the Yankees game yesterday because my body couldn't handle being conscious anymore. It was nice to be asleep but I felt just as bad when I woke up. I was tired all night, and I think I nearly dozed off a few times, but only nearly. I can't really remember what I did last night. This is terrible. I can't get anything done until I fix this sleep thing.

I spent about three or four weeks relearning why I used to enjoy studying classical languages so much, and then I spent about the same amount of time remembering why it was I quit. Right now I am trying to push through it and see if there is something on the other side. I have to learn to stop freaking out every time I hit a bump in the road.

You'd be amazed at how often I forget I am bright and a quick study.

I believe I've now watched all the samurai movies that Blockbuster carries. I feel kinda saddened by it. It's kinda depressing watching rentals by yourself though. Someone should come and watch them with me.

Sigh. It's 7 am. I've been to bed at least three times already, and I guess there is no sense in trying again? Maybe if I have any energy I will take my books down to the city, and maybe write a new song. Even that is wearing thin, because even though I've been fairly busy with that lately, it's not all that fun working on new music all by myself all the time. I need someone to work off of.

Maybe someone wants to go to the movies down on Houston tonight. Huh, the film forum has a movie called The Weather Underground. When I first heard of this domestic terrorist group (it was in Philip Roth's American Pastoral), I imagined that Bob Dylan was speaking against them when he sang "You don't need a weather man to know which way the wind blows." As far as I can tell, they actually named themselves after this line from the "Subterranean Homesick Blues". Frazzled by the idea that someone would blow up innocent people for the sake of political statement, I am completely confounded by such an organization apparently picking a a name that seems to imply nothing is to be learned or gained from their actions.

Pillow? Poems? Prostitution? What should I try?

Born to play the funky céilí,
Futile Horn