Futile Horn

02.11.2003 - 6:39 am (way o'er yonder)

There aren't many places a blind man can go in the snow. Nobody's around. Even my dad is in Florida. And I can't sleep. You might be able to guess I'm not in a good mood. I hate this place. It's sucked all the wanderlust out of me. Nothing to see here, move along.

I'd go for a walk right now anyway if it weren't for the hour. If I go I'll leave when it is dark and come back after dawn, which for some reason is one of the most depressing things I can experience.

I once got it into my head to wander around lower Manhattan all night until sunup. September 10th, 2001. I got some food at a Chinese taco place then went home because the place was giving off some serious creeps. Probably because I am used to the weekends, not Mondays nights when it is comparatively desolate.

I tried reading today but it didn't work too well, so I reached for my old acoustic guitar (it's actually electric-acoustic, but I don't have a functional amp of any kind, let alone acoustic amp). I don't like it much. It's like playing a wind chime with a shovel. Or like playing a shovel with a wind chime. In any case, it is cruel and unwieldy. It'd be put to better use as a bongo. Yet, considering how cranky I get when I don't play I suppose I am lucky to have it.

I can't write lyrics anymore. I don't have any words left. I don't have any stories. I used to draw energy from old hatred of people I can't really remember anymore. I've had a melody floating around in my skull for days with strings of words loosely and questionably attached. It's annoying. What is that song about? Who can I ask?

No, I don't think the 'folk porn' genre is really appropriate for it. Oh, but I heard a Woody Guthrie song today that was kinda like folk porn. A fearsome spanking is involved. No, not with a hairbrush.

I'm having trouble concentrating studying for my test. Maybe if I set a date, I would have the fear of god working for me. But I've been staring at these books for too long. There's no plot development, no climax, no poetry of language. How can I sustain myself like that.

I suspect that's one of the reasons I've not being doing too well in life. I go after a new interest like a maniac and then grow tired and unable to stomach it for a while. I think the same may hold with my relationships with people too. And I'm afraid of job security. I'm not sure what to do. That's how I am wired.

It doesn't help that I've few discernible peers. I'm always on the outside of whatever side they got, like Joey what's-his-name. Bob and EmmyLou Joey.

I thought with not being able to see for a few days I would pay much more attention to my other senses. I'd be able to hear things I hadn't noticed before. It hasn't worked out that way. Actually in fact, outside of looking at monitors and being able to drive, it's been pretty much the same for me. I guess I don't really pay much attention to anything.

I want orange crepe pancakes.

Born to play the funky céilí,
Futile Horn