In Arizona

I should have written in this thing like thirty five times since I got here, because there has been many unusual things. Many unsual things, not the least of which being hanging out with my three brothers at my brother Brett's place, who owns many automatic weapons. Eric has just informed me that he only has one, and it is not automatic. "I have a revolver. .357 Magnum. Snubnose." Andrew is sulking in the bedroom, even though I haven't seen him for 5 years, because Eric called him an alcoholic, after refusing to give him a Jager Bomb.

Mistake

I'm currently about an hour and a half into watching The Man In the Iron Mask, starring two Leonardo DiCaprios, which is a movie I've always been curious about for some reason I can't remember. I think I have another hour and a half to go. The verdict so far: AWFUL PIECE OF SHIT.

Sample dialogue: "To love you is treason, but not to love you is treason against my heart."

Once again: AWFUL PIECE OF ROTTEN GARBAGE.

The Better Part of the Dream

NOW IT'S NIGHTTIME, and the city is totally flooded out, and I have my cat, Mr. Chillynose, with me as I wade through streets of downtown Chicago in neck-deep water, following a long procession of people trying to escape the city. It's tough trying to navigate through all that water amongst so many people while trying to keep my cat above its surface, but I manage to collect together this mass of floating animals. First there is a huge turtle, which cranes its snakelike neck back to eyeball me and opens its mouth in protest when I put Mr. Chillynose on his back, but he can't really do much about it. The turtle sinks into the water because Mr. Chillynose is such a fatass, and his white fur gets a bit wet before I have a chance to prop up the turtle with my hands on the edges of its shell underwater, and his fur clumps together and spikes out like a hedgehog. He keeps meowing and looking with his bugged out yellow eyes for some way to get out of this, but every time he turns his paw slips a bit or something splashes near him and catches his attention, and all I can do is try to figure out a way to keep this stupid turtle propped up and still move forward with the procession of people while he keeps going "meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow..." So like I said, there was a mass of floating animals, and the humungous turtle was first, and second was this whale. A very small whale, about the size of the turtle, which I manage to wedge under the turtle to help keep it afloat, and now we've got propulsion, and things are starting to look pretty good, and the next thing I know there is this big floating mass of black fur right next to me, on my right side, which I can't tell what it is- it might be a huge dog but it's the size of a bear. I'm starting to feel like I'm going to have to start saving everything I can, like all the other little escaping helpless people and animals. Then I see this really tiny green snake, about the size of a gummy worm, floating in the dark water and I rescue it and stick it into the fur of the bear, only its been bitten in half, which is wierd because it's still alive but whatever.

And then this redneck comes up to my animal boat and snarls at me, trying to intimidate me and lay claim to my sweet situation, but there is no way I'm giving it up, especially because of Mr. Chillynose. But he won't go away, he's one of those dumbasses with no imagination and no sense of humor except for they laugh when other people get hurt or humiliated, and then this other redneck comes over and actually tries to redirect the course of my animal boat and that sets me off- I go at the first redneck- we're about ten feet away from each other and we sort of charge as best as we can in the deep water. I've never attacked anyone like this so I'm thinking on my feet, I decide quickly to do the most damage in the easiest way possible to this fucker, and he goes to punch me in the face but my face is in his face, and I bite this big chunk out of the bridge of his nose. I back away and his blood is squirting out pretty severely, like shooting maybe five feet out in front of him, and boy is he PISSED now. He purposely points his nose at me and squirts his blood in my eyes, and I almost panic for a second but then I remember how smart I am and I dunk myself under the water and swim at him and somehow manage to force him under the front end of this car that this young couple is driving, underwater, like I really wedge him up between the tires and the street, and then I swim around to the drivers side window and I put the car in 'drive' and it rolls over this guy, bumping up and down twice, and the guy driving underwater and his girlfriend notice don't seem to mind much.

AND THE LAST BIT BEFORE I WOKE UP had me swim out from behind the moving car and hoist myself up onto this sort of a landing at the top of a stairway in front of a highrise office building to get a good view of the procession so I can find out where my animal raft has gone with Mr. Chillynose, but I see this young girl, in her early twenties at the most, lying on a gurney with her arms at her sides as water spashes and sloshes up onto her face, which causes her to squint and snort and spit continuously. She is very pretty, with a round face and big eyes and dark brown hair and flush cheeks, and she's wearing an outfit made with various shades of green. I ask her what the heck she thinks she's doing lying there on this gurney thing- I get the impression that she's not hurt in any way, but she's just trying to wait it out. Her rigid body seems to reflect stoic character. But all she says is "Help me," in a really small and helpless voice, but she's sort of smiling at the time so I'm confused, but tell her sure, and decide to drag her out to my little raft once I find it. Then I notice her eyes are really wierd, like she's an alien from outer space- no pupil or iris or white eyball, bit just a single shiny orb, olive-drab in color. I start to wonder if maybe it isn't a good idea to bring her along.

Rock Practice

I just got back home from my rock practice in Humboldt Park where I play rock guitar to rock beats. My drummer, this guy Jason, is a bike messenger, so by the time we play during the week at around 8pm he's totally exhausted and is often reluctant to try things that require that extra amount of energy; and my bassist Kevin, whose place it is, has to get up every morning at the butt-crack of dawn and go do heating and air conditioning. So we end up taking lots of breaks, and not getting much done, which is a bummer for me because I have the easiest job on the planet which I can pretty much stroll into whenever I feel like it. I work at the Library putting books away or something.

Even so, the music we're doing is really good, which is kind of a problem because it's like just good enough for me to keep devoting time and energy to it, time which in my mind is directly donated from pushing the writing thing. Or maybe it's not the time I'm thinking of that's the issue, but the fact that I am justifying my existence with the casual creative process of writing the songs and am thus less driven to create works of literary genius. I just knew this was going to happen.
I was in a band for a long time, in my early twenties, and it was like no matter what I did with my life that was irresponsible or tragic I had The Band, and all of my self respect was wrapped up in it, and I devoted all of my hopes and dreams to it. And when it crashed out I was driven to go back to school and take up writing, which is something I've always always always wanted, and I thought This is all me, nobody else to rely on, I sink or swim on my own fuckin terms, yeah.

The thing is, I know I have to PICK something and get really, REEEALY good at it, not just keep floating on various creative endeavors for which I have a natural knack. I remember reading something in a Vonnegut essay where he said that communication with the rest of the world is so extreme that you have to compete with everybody on the whole planet- like you could be King Gymkata of the Pole Vault in your small community but it doesn't mean squat when compared to the best of the best of the you get the picture.

I like to sometimes contrast this line of thinking with a pet paradigm of mine, which is that it's a mistake to crave respect on too large a scale, and that it's admirable to adopt a smallish, incestuous community in which everybody's creativity feeds on each other and carve out a place for yourself there... I'm thinking of course of Chicago. My friend Megan is like this: she is always out there giving herself to people who care what she is doing.

When you love to do too many things, though, it's kind of hard to pick. I see myself as turning into this aging bohemian type who takes potshots at writing and filmaking and music, and who's name fades from one of those particular community's consciousnesses by the time he gets around to following up on whatever. It certainly doesn't lend itself to bringing in the dough...

Video games don't help, either. Stay away from those things, if you don't already. 70 and a half hours logged for Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic for the Xbox. Ouch.