December 09, 2003

Have you stopped reading yet?

My days are strange, hyperspeed and not unlike the the scenes in Baraka where they set cameras out in the desert or the oceanic vaults of someplace I doubt I will ever see with my own eyes - could be Russia, could be under a bridge in CinCin - and it takes a picture/1 frame every 4 minutes and so when played back, you see the spectrum of the whole super saturated 72mm day, all nature folly and work-of-god beautiful, in the span of three whole minutes. It goes by as if greased. I feel pedestrian in the world.

Last night, at midnight, I was remebering I have to move this week ( next door, so no need to pack I say, not really...) - I got in the car to scavenge for cardboard boxes. Instead, I found nine milk crates, behind ghetto grocery marts and wine resturaunts and I stole them all. All that I saw. The classic rock station started a three hour commercial free block, with songs selected by a DJ who sounds like he came out of the birth canal with a lit Silk Cut in his mouth already. He played Springsteen's "Thunder Road", meanwhile, I was driving through my favorite part of town, which is all just low-storied industrial buildings. Family businesses all, recycling, bottling, imports, fish, gourmet pretzels, grommets. Some places looking like Beirut, dead - ghosted windows, appliance parts and silos no one has used since 1970, the whole bit. He played "Thunder Road" and I almost cried.

The night before last, both Eddie Murphy and Conor Oberst in my dream. Conor had a thing for asian women, but also, was obssessed with me and that I wouldn't get drunk with him. Eddie Murphy was essentially, reprising his role in Coming To America. I did not cry then, either.

Posted by Jessica at 09:44 PM | Comments (10) | TrackBack

December 05, 2003

OH, and p.s.

http://www.urbanhonking.com/cowboyz/

This is the blogging website of Julianne Shepherd, who is one of the 40-11 people who are my freinds that I am also totally and completely afawned by. I just made up that word, which is why you don't recognize it. Afawned is like, such a fawning fandom that you are a twitter, a-flutter, asunder from yrself, you are a go-go mush. Like being afawned is like you have almost OD'd from adoration. I am in love with all my friends, and Julianne is right at the top, like a Christmas Angel.

Also, when you are talking to people in England on the phone, do you wind up say "Cheers" at the end of conversations back to them? I did that all morning and felt like an ass.

Posted by Jessica at 01:26 PM | Comments (21) | TrackBack

Back by popular demand!

from an email I wrote to somebody:

>I saw Atmosphere last night -- the man is all
> contradictions, and that's speaking/ feeling like someone who can see-thorugh his> mechanisms for engaging with teenagers who yell hell yes when he
> screams "is hip hop your life?" and points the mic at the audience. I
> really liked watching him because I really ENJOY people who enjoy
> being famous - being undergroundica, everyone acts like burdgeoning
> fame is like, the trillion-ton snail shell they drag around... I
> really love famousish people who just get in there and roll around in
> it. I felt like with our boy Slug, he goes from like real-real,
> visceral and confused as any human, to like Steve Perry with a
> crip-walk -- "Don't Stop Believing, dog!". TOTALLY COMPELLING!
>He is totally new school
> emo -- he is more Jeff from Thursday, but with the calculation of the
> careerist ( Thrsday is more "this is all an accident, man!",) --
> someone who knows real fandom and that kids just want to beleive,
> they want to fucking connect, they like it when he's rugged, they
> like it when he's sensitive. Al pointed out that last night, he
> pulled a girl out from the crowd who was getting crushed, and passed
> her to the tour manager to take care of and all that, but walked
> mostly offstage -- and was still speaking into the mic "Take care of
> her man, get her some water, let her rest" - so we all knew. PEOPLE
> CLAPPED FOR HIM.
> But, the kids, 1200 down-for-(dorm)life, ain't nothin but a g
> thang, who are kicking pooka-shell rather than dookey rope THEY KNEW
> EVERY WORD. It really meant something to them. They yelled
> on cue every time. He's Conor Oberst temprement and all of hip hop's
> big-dick macheesmo, but no guns. He's " 21 Questions" with no love to
> access. And he throws it around in this really tantalizing, tv drama
> way. Plus, all the ladies love a thug.

Posted by Jessica at 10:59 AM | Comments (26) | TrackBack