I was planning on spending my morning helping my friend A move furniture, but she cancelled on me, which was so much the better because I turned out to have a hangover after Friday night.

I got breakfast with RS at a family diner—because most of my social set is 20somethings with extremely narrow backgrounds and interests, being in a dining room with a mixture of young people, families with kids, all the way up to elderly couples getting weekend breakfast, can seem like a human kaleidoscope of overstimulation. It was nice to catch up with him, I’m behind on bills right now and it makes me feel weird to talk to him when that’s the elephant in the room. 

I honestly cannot remember what I did yesterday afternoon, which is a terrible sign of something.

I’ve been thinking more about starting an Artist’s Way group, and I decided that I wanted to have a real copy of the book, instead of the shitty pirated ebook that I’ve been reading. I went over to the Hawthorne Powell’s to buy it and use up the gift card I got from exchanging books the last time I went. It’s incredible how shame works. As I was poking around Self Help—General looking for my book, I was flashing back to trips to Barnes and Noble when I was a teenager, trying to quickly browse the Gay and Lesbian shelf (shelf!). It was in the section near the history and biography sections, a plausible interest of mine, and I figured I had about 90 seconds at a time to browse. Anyway, I couldn’t find a copy right away and I new they had them in stock, but I ended up having to ask somebody that works there to help me. I felt as nervous asking him as 18 year old me would have been to ask for The Joy of Gay Sex or something. I also picked up a copy of Vanity Fair which turns out to be a much longer novel than I thought. 

After getting back from Powells, I made some plans to have dinner with my friend RC. I was happy to have a few minutes to catch up with L, but her boyfriend was over. I was briefly overcome with such an angry irritation at his presence, so I decided to give them both a wide berth because it wasn’t really their fault and I was being petulant. 

RC’s many virtues is that she has a true lack of judgement and true unconditional acceptance, so I felt like I could share some of the new headspace I’ve been in since Wednesday. I felt comfortable enough to share some of the stuff that’s in my artistic journal, which is starting to take shape and form and growing into a real work of art. We got into a long and emotional conversation about the way that we mediate ourselves in order to conform to expectations when other people have power over our lives. It was a good talk, a real talk. 

After dinner, I was really full and a little bit sleepy. I decided that all I wanted to do was really listen to music. I listened to Sun Structures by Temples. It’s neo-psychedelic rock, kind of sipping the same juice as Tame Impala, with the gauzy veils of reverb of Fleet Foxes. I liked it fine, I love it when bands have that almost neo-classical impulse to make interesting music and not just try and distinguish themselves with production gimmicks. At the same time, it’s such a retro project that it can be hard to figure out what a good or bad song would be in context. 

After that, I listened to The Voyager by Rilo Kiley frontwoman Jenny Lewis. I enjoyed these songs a lot, to the point of not wanting to be too critical or pick them apart. The songs are really personal, and I don’t feel like I have too many experiences in common yet, but I can appreciate their artistry. I’m a huge fan of Fleetwood Mac, and I felt like I heard a lot of them in this.

Once I caught my second wind, I went on a tear, just playing piano with the kind of reckless abandon and joy at hearing my own sounds that used to keep me occupied for hours as a child. At some point, I became so focused on making sure that my practice times were productive and focused that I lost that spirit. I became a lot more focused on making sure I sounded good and wasn’t repeating myself into cliché. I don’t think that’s all wrong—I certainly want to get better and make sure that the time I am putting in is useful time!—but I think I’m coming to understand that the time when I can just sit back and enjoy the sounds I’m making are the embers that keep my fire alive. All of the time I spend trying to stoke myself up without giving those embers oxygen is a waste of time and effort.

I decided to go out and hear JP deejay at a bar at midnight. He’s been letting me into movies free at the theater he works at. It turned out to be kind of a bummer, and I left as soon as I finished my drinks.

As I fell asleep, I watched an excellent Taiwanese gay movie called Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow. It’s kind of a cross between Punch Drunk Love and Far From Heaven, a deliberately stylized and retro, with a little bit of a old Hollywood movie musical/Technicolor aesthetic. It’s a very controlled movie, never breaks into laugh out loud funny or anything, but some good performances, and a lot better than the average shitty gay movie I fall asleep to on a Saturday night. 


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