the hot spell of the past couple of days has ended, today, with snow and ice and what’s worse, sleet. so i did not escape the house today as planned. instead, my accomplishments number two in number- i listened to king sunny ade (“juju music of the eighties (scene 1)”- thrice) and sewed a cool patch on one of my shirts (it’s hawk man).

i’ve been reading up on wolves and the wolfman, as, for whatever reason, the wolfman has been making himself known to me: yesterday matt hallas brings home from the little store “music of the wolves (narrated by robert redford)”. i’ve been in two situations in the past week where people only listen to the first, wolf-related part of the dead prez album, and today, email from holmes: “In Italy you don’t say good luck you say “in the mouth of the wolf!” and you don’t say thanks back (that’s bad luck) you say “swallow!”.”. i can’t quite put my finger on the wolfman, but i have the feeling he’s the least pathetic of the universal monsters (and i mean universal in a cultural and a studio way).

there are obstacles in my way, i am taking a nap. also, i am twice in a week relying on outside comments, as noah schaffer reports on upcoming events in worcester:

update from h.p. hovercraft (holmes) in florence italy (flo-town):

So Will told me the Patriots were gonna be a big deal this year and I
heard about last weekend’s game at Foxboro in a damn blizzard where they come back from ten points down in the third quarter so I was like “Hell, yeah I’m gonna watch them on satelite at some shitty Irish Pub near the train station!” and the great thing about Boston sports is that some kid showed up wearing, yep, a “Yankees Suck” shirt. And then the game was apeshit. Like a sports movie. And there were some Pittsburg kids there and that made it even more fun when they got totally fucked up each time it looked like they might have a chance.

Go Pats.

something great about a kid in europe with a “yankees suck” shirt (at or not at a sportsbar) and i think we all know what it is.

yesterday, and much of today, thinking involves the surinam toad. the female (and more deadly) of the species carries eggs on her back, which grow into the skin, over which grows a leathery shell, out of which the hatchlings claw (when ready). i saw a picture in a book- weird. i am not thinking of this toad as some sort of grand metaphor for something or other, or divine illustration. i’m thinking of it because of some form of trader joe’s biscuit/scone i ate two days prior, with a similar look (without the baby frogs inside) and what i imagine to be a similar texture (but without the mama frog underneath). for two days i have been grossing myself out in this way. i am sorry i shared this. today i walked across worcester and back, visiting people in the hospital and being taken out to lunch, occasinally walking as the crow flies. on shrewsbury street i sang songs, delighting none. principal was goodnight irene, which i am determined to get the rest of the story on (right now it just plain doesn’t make sense). when i have determined the rest of the story i will tell you, my dear and trusted reader, and then i will say “now you know (and here will be a brief pause, shorter than the time it takes to read this parenthetical remark (unless you are the micromachines guy)) the rest of the story.”. again, sorry about the toad thing.

shit. i just typed a huge post, paused to download the misfits song “vampira”, and netscape quit. fuck. i will sum up:

pats hat + seam ripper = new england riots. his name is carel struycken (lurch (in the movie), st:tng, ewok movie, witches of eastwick, sgt. pepper’s lonely hearts club band (the movie, as “the brute”). read in fangoria years ago, never followed up on- the dialogueless posthumous ed wood film i woke up early the day i died (with jtt, eartha kitt, conrad brooks, ricky shroeder, vampira, karen black & two (2) phoenixes (rain & summer). will follow up.

entered a raffle yesterday at the bijou’s one year anniversary celebration. GO TO THE BIJOU EVERY WEEK. went to a party, post-raffle euphoria in full swing (this is thursday, which is yesterday, timestamp-be-damned). spilled crap (earlier in the day) on my pants, neccessitating a change (earlier) into second-tier pants. normal rotation is a mere 2 pair (one dirty one clean, traditionally). second tier is 1 pair strong, third tier is pajama pants. 2nd tier pants are tan corduroy (literally the fabric of kings), which means now standard yellow corduroy “english lit t.a.” jacket is out of the question (i tried it once, at the don cab show- busted. too far away, also too close). my jackets don’t have a hierarchy, but fyi i went with fits-just-right blue blazer w/gold(ish) buttons. somehow this all adds up to me holding a little baby chihuahua dog, me eating potatos au gratin with my bare hands while party host’s back is turned, me occasionally opening my mouth like a mama bird to let baby bird (the dog) eat right out of it (my mouth). me, cool breeze, jet stream, and advanced placement stayed up later than everyone who’s apt it is and way ate their fudgcicles and ran. just as dumpster donuts begat dumpster bagels, so dumpster bagels begat dumpster biscuits and smooshed croissants so there was that too. matt coe says my pronunciation on “croissant” is not like that of regular france, but of the south of france. i recieve his comment gracefully (as i like to think i recieve nearly everything (oh grow up)) but equally valid would have been if i had told him to stop oppressing me.

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for a brief, wonderful time some months ago, i allowed myself to believe that vampira read this page. i won’t go into the details (it was really almost nothing, barely a whim), but nothing ever became of it. i’d like to be friends with vampira, who wouldn’t? but i don’t think vampira would want to be friends with me. ah, if i dared to dream…
</focus>

note time- still awake. i feel i have my shit reasonably in order- enough to afford sleep.

ok, i promised nick i would not go to sleep until i figured out the ordem cd printing stuff. i am currently investigating the imprint printing concern, run by punk-ass kids out of FLA (i’m told (by art(hur middleton III))). nick: i must wait until i hear back from them w/r/t my quote. but i have made a contingency plan, so when i hear from company, i will be able to plug in the numbers and act immediately. nb: nick (fujichia business manager and long time ally) is so close i consider him part of my body. he and i share (amongst other things) two beliefs re: your humble narrator– that i am capable of whatever i set my heart on, and that i am crippled by a disease of seriously pointless inaction. today, in an admittedly precedented move, i authorized nick to mercilessly hassle me. nb: all other hassles, merciless & the other kind: UNAUTHORIZED.

ok, this isn’t it, but it has both Hot Soup and Runaway Pancake in it!

no, i have no idea either.

hey, does anyone (fitchburg?) know anything about this movie about two runaway girls who live in an abandoned building and wear trash bag shirts and racoon darryl-hannah-in-blade-runner eye makeup and somehow (a band maybe?) develope a huge following of inspired girls? i remember watching it years ago on the movie loft, the night before my sister took the SATs. i had it turned up really loud, she came down and yelled at me. anyone?

so i misread the communique from nick’s mom, it turns out i’m only
housesitting until tonight, not, as i had thought, until saturday. i have
accomplished none of the serious study i had pencilled for this time slot,
which should surprise no one. i read neither moby dick nor don quixote, i
did not record any new material for the sax is confusion ep (although i
did some clarifying work), even my three showers a day experiment will
have to be aborted, and all findings ruled inconclusive. i didn’t even
make my special melissa #1 painting, for which i was cutting up newspapers
for two hours yesterday! instead i watched countless hours of television
and ate a preposterous quantity of pretzel sticks and ranch veggie
dip. let this be a solid reminder of the fleeting nature of time and the
need for constant vigilance and dedication to one’s dreams. hmm. maybe
i’ll go get that tattoo this week.

big ups to melissa #1 for getting me the “robert rauchenberg starter kit” (24 page booklet, 8 page activity book, 8 tubes paint, 3 sheets illustration paper, 4 sheets art paper, 3 sheets wax transfer paper, 3 paint brushes, 1 bottle glue (elmer’s), mixing pallette, frame). sure it’s silly but sure it’s great! also today procured the new eightball (#22) which is, as always, gorgeous. work continues on abstract sax ep (“sax is confusion”?). work begins on jacob berendes vs. flaspar vs. golden age wonder woman megamix.

confessions to nick reville, at whose house i remain housesitting:
1. i still haven’t sent the cd off to the press(es). i have reservations about sending to australia. i am currently investigating more local places, partly because i am a little sketched out by australia place, partly (and this is true) in an effort to reduce air traffic. i endevour to make my decision by tommorrow, and immediately act upon it.
2. i have used your razor.
3. i have borrowed tutu’s bike on 3 occasions.
that is all.