is your life story about you, cuz i just can't relate

"they" and we say we have ridiculous weather in michigan, and that's entirely true, we do. the balance abound we've had this year with cold-cold days blanketed in sun [not snow, the snow can't seem to stick around past 11am], something feels pretty right on about it. life's like that too; always balancing, cancelling itself out. white/grey-stark, disenchanted, lonely days rise like the light end of a teeter-totter at the sound of good news: a near-implausibility, something to shout about, something written in all caps. and daffodils i think are my favorite flower, at least when they're in season as they are now. i love them fresh, in bloom, that clean, milky yellow hue; and still, when dead, mustard-hued, yellow-brown, stagnant and dry-frozen, they're still gorgeous. like shrunken pillars, fossils, staves; some proud memory of living. you know, i often say that i'm saving everyone, but really i'm doing a dreadful job.

mystiKAL

it's okay that this week is going to be WORST WEEK EVER
because next week is officially BEST WEEK EVER

boy, IN TOWN [FANcy hotel! possible HOT TUB], mon-wed
chicago, thurs-fri [tan! and b&s and bound stems {hopefully!}}
SHOW [big fun], lansing, sat

!!!

angela's making red velvet cupcakes right now!
menstruation jokes, ha
red poops - a reality!

wedding song

there's SO totally a difference between the mean reds and the blues.

and when you have both..?

you're right there next to me

this weekend WINS for most boring ever. i want to drive the fuck away. why can't chicago be two hours closer? that's do-able. well, anything's DO-able. fuck!

the thesaurus says that synonyms for BORING include banausic, interinable, moth-eaten [?!], ho hum, ARID [arid like DESERT], insipid, trite, threadbare.

really, i need to get some major thinking in about what desserts/sweets i'm going to DEVOUR in the next 2.5 days before they get the NIX for a month. and make some more fucking granny squares! i've finally memorized the pattern, too. rarrrr

ohhhh ho-HUM!

i just lost it for a while

there in the clearing i know you'll be wearing
your young aching smile and waving your hand.

my roommate, kevin, is doing a month of puritanism during the month of march, which includes no meat, swearing, sweets, sex, drinking. though i'm invariably and utterly incapable of abstaining from all those nasty vices, in solidarity i will also go without meat and without sweets. i might die!

iron and wine in the morning..almost as bad as red house painters in the night

you're a poem of mystery
you're the prayer inside me

so yesterday, a top-notch [i can blow off my work to the weekend, rarr yay] friday really-truly, scott and i visited what i will refer to as MIKE'S WAREHOUSE, though really it is a nameless, facadeless, un-pin-down-able and even SHAPE-SHIFTING entity. perhaps you know that i'm an estate sale addict; really-truly, this addiction is more like an love for a myriad of things old [quantity and quality included]. some call them antiques, friends of mine call it junk. my walls are loaded with old stuff i bought, and much of its purpose is art-ful [wall hangings, kitchen items {lately calendar tea towels, specifically}, old photos, letters, papers, memos, telegrams, books, maps, obscenely-massive sunglasses are what i'm into lately]. anyway, so i found on craigslist an ad for a GARAGE SALE/FLEA MARKET "grand opening" yesterday. the ad proported a "30,000 SQ. FOOT WAREHOUSE FLEAMARKET IN DETROIT" and mike's personal testimony, "I HAVE ANY THING YOU ARE LOOKING FOR...IT TOOK ME 35 YEARS TO GATHERED UP ALL THIS STUFF [sic]." this is the kind of thing i CANNOT resist. the mere thought of a warehouse at five mile and livernois in detroit [read: BAD area] chock-full of STUFF some guy has been collecting/ACCUMULATING for thirty-five years makes me weak in the knees [even right now in retrospect]; it's ms. margaret's kryptonite. and there were photos in the ad!


and yes, it WAS exactly like that, just multiply that first picture by twelve or so. and the reality..? stunning, overwhelming. we waded through "the collection" for an hour or so with no dearth of major discoveries or lilts of voice: george harrison all things must pass mint record, 1988 detroit tigers drinking glasses, LOADED photo album dated 1950 of a "men's club" [the MECCA of finds for me, words cannot even express]. and prices? a dollar a record, a dollar an item generally for my items [which also included my adored kitchen tea towels, 70s/80s sunglasses, another photo album and loads of old wrapping paper]. i doubt we covered one-seventh of mike's collection, which also includes musical and sports equipment, lawnmowers, clothes, hardware supplies. trust me, the ad hit it dead-on: "THERE IS SO MUCH IT WOULD TAKE ME TO LONG TO LIST IT ALL. YOU WILL NEED A FULL DAY TO LOOK AT EVERY THING IN THE BUILDING." additionally, mike informed us that he is constantly unpacking boxes and organizing and reorganzing, so every trip to the warehouse is a new experience. you're guaranteed to see things as yet unseen.

here's the info:

HOURS WILL BE MONDAY THUR FRIDAY 9:00 TO 5:00 AND SATURDAY 9:00AM TO 4:00PM
(THIS IS A GREAT CHANCE FOR EBAY SELLERS TO COME AND GET GOOD STUFF TO SELL)

HERE IS THE ADDRESS 14459 WILDEMERE ST. [livernois and fenkell {five mile} area]
DETROIT,MICH 48238
OR CALL MIKE AT (248)521-8818 (LOOK FOR A BIG BUILDING THAT SAY BAKE MARK CANT MISS IT.)

really, if you're into anything old, you should visit mike's warehouse. watch out for the crackhouses in the neighborhood, the killer [like KILLER!] dog as you walk in [one of mike's cohorts assured us he would just bark and not attack] and be sure to wear some WARM clothing especially socks/shoes in these winter days because it's totally freezing in there. my toes took an hour after leaving to defrost from being numb with cold.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
well, i was going to muse about the rest of the day, the night, devouring slow's barbeque [BEST new restaurant in detroit, hands-down], old big boy, eating donuts, friends touring australia, osciliation between jealousy and understanding, having great times with two ex's and my mom, love for whole wheat english muffins [and newfound brand specificity/loyalty], love for thomas video, hearts and blurry minds catapulted miles, sleeping on the couch every night, cold medicine as a vice, the boring end [hump] of winter, no shows to go to go anytime soon, anticipation to go to chicago/lansing in two weeks...but i guess if i talked about all that shit, things would get a little lengthly, and saturday would be gone.

xo

spoken words like moonlight
you're the voice that i like

watch him always

how many hearts have you broken?
how many times have you been in love?
how many were ideas?
how many nights will you distinctly remember, always?
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

in place of myself tonight, loved ones slept on the couches while i remained awake. a converse; it felt like an hourglass.

how much time is spent waiting?

i know your fault

today was like a pretend simulation [way simulacraic] of days when i would skip class [university; usually RUNNING out the door] and tool around oakland county. visited the mall, my tailor ALI [brightens the day, always], the market, some thrift stores. bought fruits and veggies. tonight ange makes the french onion soup, yum. last night i dreamt of boys whose hearts i broke years ago. i can't shake it today for even a moment; i'm wearing a blurry cloak of regret, strained/red/watery eyes; like a heart set in stone or the day you can't make out cloud shapes in the sky. in the dream i ran into him at the mall, and he look really great, better almost than i had ever seen him look. he was married with a child, and i told him to leave them and be with me, and he did.

merhh!

and when's the weather way-better?!
meanwhile, spring begins inside you

like a good boy, like dog

this is my future:


[you should probably be prepared]

so, sometimes i wake up, suck on a cup of coffee [i swear by the stains on my teeth, you'd think i drank it with a SIPPY-cup], think about working, but i get oh-so-helplessly sucked into the vortex that is "the mp3 blog." it just gets a little overwhelming! i'll find a new one that i like, and read like the last month's posts, and "oh there he has an expansive list of links to other blogs, and oh wow i never heard that band's cover of 'love will tear us apart' and oh man this guy says this other guy compiled a list of MANY covers of 'love will tear us apart' and oh i must listen to the cure one, oh that blows, and oh wow the calexico one is actually pretty good! wow but it doesn't really sound like the original and the U2 and arcade fire cover? wow man, i don't even know if those two should be pals or whatever and wait should anyone be covering joy division anyway wtf..?!" shit like this eats HOURS of life. i KNOW you know what i'm talking about.

i'm actually not a huge FAN of "the mp3 blog" at large [yeah, like it's a fucking MENACE to society]. i don't really get it...a good amount of them all seem to be blabbing about the same bands, all these newy-new bands, which seem to all have been, of-COURSE-coincidentally just mentioned by pitchfork the day prior. after that whole "snap-your-fingers-and-a-band-blows-up-yeah" shit last year, i'm pretty much totally-totally overwhelmed by the hype machine that is music news and music blogs, &tc. i sit around and wonder [academically, really] about the affect/impact of these blogs [we KNOW the impact {or potential HAND} of news-sites {mongrels! giants!} like pitchfork]...but the blogs, how much do they contribute to the proliferation of a band, to their "success"....?!! questions like this are why i'm not in grad school for sex therapy right now, i can't sort all the thoughts out, they're spinning and multiplying far too rapidly.

that was a total "if-you-give-a-mouse-a-cookie" thang there. i just came here to post the postal service's fantastic remix of feist's "mushaboom" i found on gorilla vs. bear. it's not bland, lame or boring, to which i'm highly sensitive lately.

feist - mushaboom [postal service remix]

grandma square

i'm frighteningly close to locking myself in my room until trader joe's brings back my favorite food ever [next to anything with buffalo sauce of course] canned CURRIED CHICKPEAS. what the fuck.

other news is meager: big ideas about granny square crocheting, hours of coughing, days/weeks of being sick, estate sale withdrawl, whole wheat english muffin devoring, anticipated/soon rowan cape unveiling, saving everyone. right?!!

darksided comix

see you everywhere

took the night pretty far, we ended up at the "gay dance party" at oslo, which wasn't really that gay. good times. except when you factor in my being quite sick [which i've decided must actually be endearing and not disgusting, especially as i was told i looked like a marc jacobs model at the bar and that my sick voice is "cute" {obviously these sirs have had meager exposure to my nose blowing}]. good night times and the sickness should meet like oil and water, but surprisingly, they don't.

passed out in my bed while several people were in my room. slept in my clothes. when i finally woke, my heart hurt. louie said it was emotional and not physical. invariably, i pulled a muscle in my chest from all of the coughing, but i think that perhaps in some tiny way he spoke the truth.

i came late

seems like internet activity on the whole has been down; perhaps something measurable like the DOW. perhaps. but who cares? i don't care about the DOW; surely someone/something out there is tracking internet activity. suppose i'd care more about that. perhaps there's something wrong with that. all i know is the blogs i read are scarcely being updated, my aim buddy list has been looking a bit frail, and i can't write with any marked prolificacy, interest, intelligence, &tc. was this a dumb thing to talk about here? when you work on the computer all day and all you have is friends and emails and blogs and such to break up the tedium of the day, and those distractions slow down a bit...well, you notice!

all the dreams i've been having lately are the kind where you dream of people/places/events that you wish you were experiencing in real life. the kind of dreams so vivid and real-seeming they almost, just for a moment, satisfy in reality whatever it is they're trying to simulate. for a split-second before you open your eyes, they totally work. distance and wants receive some sort of spiritual absolution. my favorite thing about these types of dreams, the heavy hitters, is that upon placing my head on the pillow the next night--and only at that exact moment--i fall back with near entirety into the previous night's dream, not just remembering more sharply than any time i was able to in the day. i'm nearly in the dream again--perhaps 65%--for a few moments; so in it again that i always imagine that perhaps if i fell asleep that this very moment, i'd pick off where i left off in the dream the night before.

also: sick again with something plaguing my throat [sore], ears [itchy], eyes [kinda infected and disgusting], &tc. today has been soso strange, it felt like 5.30 pm ever since i woke, the color barely changed outside. the only way to tell that it's evening is by the blinds having been closed. i guess there was not a full moon today, but perhaps we are in the downcurrent of it, because it sure seemed like one. we're getting a big-screen tv tomorrow in the house. that's news. there will be out-of-town houseguests this weekend. and -- people really impress me, winter is weighing us down, and sometimes it feels as though my heart has been hurled hundreds of miles away. i, like a determined hamster running the wheel, i try tirelessly to pull it back.

time has told me you came with the dawn

quintessential love song:

mr. nick drake -- time has told me
[apologies, you need itunes for this m4a]

sun sets later, bit by bit: a inchworm; but still earlier near the wake of the nor'easter. distance measured in hours by car, plane, on foot. lust resisted, irresistable. blood pressure rises at the thought of presence in nearby towns, by car, plane, on foot. heart races, purring furiously at the thought of newlyweds, under the covers; weekend lovers, lights on, routed by eyes locked, maps traced with fingertips, in total rapture.

time has told me, you're a rare rare find
a troubled cure
for a troubled mind

the key is to make sure i get my claws into you

i wasn't really feeling today or this week for that matter, not really feeling valentine's day either. showered for the first time since friday [totally true; also finally washed that email address sharpie-d down my left arm], left the house for the first time in two days, ate a big meat sandwich and two cupcakes [thinking about a third] -- spirits were lifted. ahoy.

valentine's day, whatever. no one to love but friends and family. and love songs and un-love songs. enjoy:

straight-up love song/miraculous genesis cover:
red house painters -- follow you, follow me

taking-it-back foundational emo love song:
rites of spring -- all there is

the crush song:
superchunk -- detroit has a skyline [acoustic goodie]

the debilitating break-up song:
songs: ohia -- goodnight lover

the "you're dead but i still love you" song:
suede -- the next life

the pre-sex/striptease song:
party of helicopters -- slowdance

the sex song:
massive attack -- inertia creeps

point this corner toward the west

more snow again but far from qualifying as a "real" snow. why do i always talk about the goddamn weather on here?? it has something to do with concurrently writing and looking out the window, as wherever i live i always insist upon the placement of my computer very near a window. but here in the ferndale house i look out THREE windows at the same time. makes for big-time weather talking. until i'm fully coffee-powered in the morning, all i can really think about is the hue and transparence/opacity of the sky, the snow really trying to blanket the ground, where our neighbor "hook hand"'s pristine baby-blue station wagon is parked, &tc. having friends and family dotting major us cities like highlighter in a norton anthology also has me checking "my weather watchlist" on weather.com with marked frequency.

whatever.

i can't write, i can't get shit out for about a week now. fuck if i know why. i want it back. more media consumption may be the answer. perhaps. until then, mush-mind.

the weekend involved taking it way too far friday night/morning, spending saturday recovering on the couch, watching bingo! the documentary [which was short, half-entertaining, half-disappointing and included an INSANELY catchy song about bingo, as everyone around me couldn't stop singing it], sunday late club bart brunch, somerset with kevin and scott for the at-last purchase of TWO pairs of new jeans for kevin [ultra-exciting], working, green lantern for pizza [killer], seinfeld season five dvd viewing, sleep on the couch.

in the fire of my youth

treating sunday morning like a monday, devoting the entire day to goddamn transcription. wishing we were also cloaked in snow, so not leaving the house for a day would be accompanied with more of a sense of purpose than happenstance. being in a "state" of anything that is persistent and arduous like this only leaves room for regret. life advancement: stop. when your life is like a choose-your-own-adventure book from our youth and you consistently choose action, specifically the most severe/exciting/different path, pure satisfaction is not always waiting for you at the end of the chapter.

it's not, it's inside me now

deeesiaaaaaaaahhhhhh

oh you got blue eyes
oh you got green eyes
grey cells green
green cells grey

poor milk brothers

bands i hate: fiery furnaces, antony and the johnsons, the hold steady. i couldn't "get it" any less. no less, not one iota, one piece. zap, zero.

passed out [yes, drunk] in the backseat of your own car, the drive from lansing, michigan to ferndale, michigan feels like it lasts about five minutes. maybe six. being PLASTERED among nu-metal/fall-out-boy-metal/whatever-metal kids in lansing, michigan BY ten pm and subsequently throwing up makes you feel so very young. but it's hard to forget feeling so damn old, so i guess something about it feels tragically, desperately immature. and when you've slept/passed out for at least eight hours, you wake up early, at like eight thirty, still hungover and wishing you'd picked a better day than the first day of your period. never a good combo meal.

so the snow came back to us today, but not enough. i prefer a massive dump that halts most facets of life, making board games, rummaging the cupboard and drinking the ends of dusty liquor bottles the new but fun-er puritanism. the new gandhi living. we probably do need some more snow, and not dissimilarly to how we sometimes need more rain. d says we need real winter to feel right, for spring to feel right. springfever, however, i believe will always feel right. it feels right in april and in october and in july and in february. oh you know. the new romance. there's something intangible about it, at least in the way of explanation. but i do know it involves helpings of technology and distance and devouring and touching and not touching, but it does not involve loss, jealousy. youth, also, is on both sides of involvement. i'm sorry, making sense today is not my forté [worst word ever, sorry dudes].

today's my sister's last in michigan, as she's off to start a new life away at the university, the culinary institute of america. in four quick years she'll be dealing with investors and perhaps my mom and i will be preparing to move to nyc to work in my little sister's bakery. ha. someone has to be successful. i can't imagine that feeling anymore of going away to college, especially so far away. what a change. i wish her the best of luck and happiness with an excess of love.

going out for karl's birthday tonight, and he stole my idea of mexicantown dining and the bar. heh. it's impossible to not pick the best mexican restaurant in michigan, so i'll back off. i had pollo ranchero monday, is it possible to have twice in five days? is it even moral? something far too hedonistic about devouring [yes, same word used for sex] one of the best meals in detroit.

xo

our lips turn off and on, they do

it's something like life has become a mess lately. sure, along those lines. this isn't a new advancement since my weekend jaunt to nyc, at least that's what i'm told. shit's been swirling around itself and others and me for some time now. this is the bad energy where i have a glass-breaking marathon [accidental]. but my mind is calm, pulseless. when you don't know what you want, there's little to think about. and when it ultimately doesn't even matter what you want, it's paralyzing. so fuck it, just live days and nights with only-mumbling, flatlined thoughts alternating between drinking alone at home with a head full of loss and then going and messing the mess-up up even further with a head full of artificial strength [jesus that was a terrible construction]. i picture it like a 3-year-old's finger-painting painting with those difficult primary colors that tendentiously always mix to brown, but you keep adding another hand to the roster of "artists." another hand, another five fingers swirling the shit around.

MENEGUAR [myspace] from brooklyn, ny was played nonstop this weekend intentionously for my favor, and invariably my favor eventually surfaced, and now i like meneguar. at least for me, if i hear something enough and it's not flat-out horrific, i will probably end up liking it. not that meneguar is bordering on flat-out horrific, because they're not. at all! anyway, meneguar's a band like most of us, having trouble recovering from some part of the 90s. but instead of stuffing that "problem" [but it's not a problem] in the corner or down their girlfriends' shirts, they embrace it. so it's not a problem anymore, it's a logical progression with resultant great tunes, catchiness, &tc.

meneguar
house of cats
i was born at night
2005 © magic bullet


wow WHOA. apologies for writing like absolute shit today. guess taking 5 out of 7 days off isn't a good idea. wow, that was horrible. you don't even know how long it took.

new words, new bones

because of nausea incitement, unsteady hands [i won the unofficial breaking things competition in bk] and unfocused yet strong-like-a-rope-on-the-heart internal pressure to move away, traveling is pretty much the pits. but coming home to such stellar friends and family, like fucking shining jewels dotting a construction-paper-black/blank night sky, like miniature beacons, priceless and guiding, nothing remains amiss.

and the words falling down

so today came. in a hurry, but i wanted to leave some great jams for the weekend. incidentally they're all tinged with electronica. perhaps it's an ode to jeanne's super-electric past dancin' it up in illicit detroit parties under the ambassador bridge, &tc.

antarctica - absence
this is seriously one of the best jams ever, the perfect ditty to dance around the house to in your underwear. who knew, who knew the guy from emo-warriors christie front drive would pop up again with such perfection. i think specific dance moves, just for this song. one time an ex and i just made up lyrics to this song since we were so frustrated not knowing them. i remember there was a theme, an animial.

modest mouse + 764-hero - whenever you see fit
perfectd pairing. dance around the basement to this one. tell the truth every once in a while, now and again

my bloody valentine - SOON
no explanation, tootoo perfect. [dance around the front yard.]

love something, escape.
xo!
as ever,
m

i know who wrote the guide to self-involvement

real detroit horoscopes, you always win:

You are ambivalent enough to be playing both ends to the middle in your work and/or in your relationships. There is absolutely nothing wrong with this from your perspective, but others would absolutely flip out if they knew what you are really feeling. The most painful part of the awful truth is finding the courage to speak it. For you to get on with your life, you need to stop pussyfooting around and just be honest no matter what it stirs up.

i wrote it out in stones where the room divides

since today is trying to outright MAUL me with busy-ness and copious amounts of work already, i can only offer my favorite songs of the moment and admit copious amounts of excitement to go away tomorrow. this is the whirl of a heart racing.

richard buckner
believer
goner w/souvenir
since
1998 © mca

dear lucky mess

is it spending the day downriver that rises nerve endings to the skin's surface? is it spending just a few hours in that house, the house i spent most of my youth's years, the house that i now will visit only near-involuntarily, near-dragged, near-begged, near-bribed. is it coming home to a full inbox, is it in reading the calmness of last year's entries, is it in the early-morning contacts? is it the dichotomy of both unwanted beckoning and unwanted rejection? what about the anatomy of relapse? what about that? is it downriver, is it that house that makes me to want to fling all the faxes around the room, hurl the pencil cup straight into the kitchen, spray cds like ninja-star-frisbees at the living room blinds? and if i wasn't so goddamn distracted, what if i wasn't just waiting, what would i throw then?

the best costume for the day

i was going to post richard buckner song, as i have been listening to him nonstop lately, but i'm not going to. or then i was going to write about how i watched grey gardens last night and perhaps i should be wearing headscargs all the time now or about how i watched the ballad of jack and rose and how greater, tender, dada, uh huh, blahblah it was [AND how daniel day-lewis is just getting better with age]. i can't. i need a fucking day off from media consumption. man. what you maybe don't know about me is that i'm not one of those people who tears through movie after movie [i've seen way less movies than you], not one of those kids who devours a new record a day. no, not in the least. i'm lucky if i find and like a new record a month. i used to hate this about myself, but now i've accepted it. blahblah. more internal consumption. it grows tiresome, grabbing at everything around you like hungry hungry hippos. but man, grey gardens is totally swirling around my head the morning. listen to an audio clip of ms. little edie bouvier beale singing "don't throw bouquets at me," an excerpt from the film. here.


two days until nyc. today, tomorrow, and friday doesn't count. living in a state of "waiting" is invisible, but it's absolutely unmatched. watching a movie is no longer simply watching a movie, but instead it becomes passing the time waiting watching a movie. life's so staccato sometimes, which is great and exciting. i, however, find it nearly unbearable.

i'm being dragged to the house downriver. goodbye, wednesday.