Da Capo

Let's take it from the top! What are you gonna do? I'm gonna write and listen to music. And read things. The moment you stopped ferociously consuming music was the moment you started to die. Speaking of which I'm motherfucking dying right now over the fact that I have not listened to this Love album, Da Capo (later: adding - or the self-titled one, wtffff everything is awesome) up until this point. Not for any reason, I just haven't. Forever Changes and Four Sail are all I listened to last late-spring but I stopped at some point. I think for the reason that I needed to hear it now instead. I'm having revived feelings of loving music and positively anticipating life. I think I need tap back into some of that "childlike joy" a la The Sun tarot card. Sixties music is childlike joy. All kinds of it and joyful or not. The thing to realize is there's no turning back now. There's no more saying "No", either, or staying idle. I'm gonna keep writing til something good comes out (once I get all the extra shit out and I'm repositioned in Wisconsin I think I'll be able to focus better). And I'm gonna keep listening to and learning about music because it's a waste to let a musical mind and soul rot away. FEED MEEEEEEEEE. FEED ME MUSIC. Talking to myself. This is gonna get a little weird.

On Books (draft)

Before recent years, my dad, as he had told, had only been to a therapist once before, in college. The therapist, apparently, told him he "hated books" and he never went back. I never fully understood why he never went back - he told the story in a real Gemini way (note to self to make a glossary of terms) that highlights his unique quirks but lack of emotional understanding (or need for it). My dad has gotten along quite well in life being the person he is. He began teaching at the same school that made me into the mess I am today right from college, and has taught there ever since. English and History are his subjects, and books are his true love. I suppose one day he figured out what the therapist meant, because he now realizes his overwhelming desire to read ALL the books causes him anxiety. And yet, his anxiety drives and disciplines him. He literally reads all the books. The bridge between that man and this girl right here is a long one. I love books. I have a lot of them. I love to keep them around me, rearrange them, browse them, bury myself in them for brief flashes, copy quotes from them, carry them with me with the best of intentions, and honor them in every way besides actually reading them cover to cover. I mean I am a book person. I love the presence of them, the smell of them, the feel of them, but most of all the magnitude of them and the significance of what they hold. They're like people. Well, they are people. I love bookstores. Everything about them. Somehow, I think I love them as much as record stores. Something about the physicality of all those numbers of bound pages exceeds vinyl and plastic discs. I always chose a record store over a book store but why? Because I hate books. I don't know exactly when it started. It might have been around the fourth grade, when we started reading real books in school (i.e., outside of school, for homework). The seed might have been planted earlier, when every time I couldn't do what I wanted (say, get a ride 30-45 minutes away for a "play date", or, the weather barred me from playing outside), my dad would enthusiastically suggest "Read a book!) Go fuck yourself, Dad! Just kidding. But that was the general feeling.

BrokenDreamsClub

Hey great job 2014, 2 posts, lowest ever... Tell me why I made a new blog called Pisces problems and then didn't write for a year? Oh yeah... This is such an insane time right now and I'm starting to actually understand astrology which I guess is helping especially because you know what goes down must come up and healing and shit. So many lessons learned I think but the time to move is now. Which is great because I'm moving! This really, really shitty first draft (blog) (also what a horrible name for a blog and I can't even remember who said that .. Anne Lammot? Never finished that book. Obviously.) is such a sad story of a depressed repressed anxious passionate introverted lonely misfit and her grand cross astrology and music (expression of life and people feelings) obsession and inability to adapt in society because of being born in the wrong place and time, and debilitating fear instilled in childhood and adolescence. Cool! I might feel entitled to write about it. I think I deprive myself of entitlement. I have today and tomorrow off. It's raining. It's 4/20. I'm getting my period in about a minute. I almost had a panic attack trying to figure out what to listen to. I don't feel great. But it's not too bad, I feel a great healing coming down upon me (as Michele Knight would say). I have no pressure to do anything today (or I'm trying not to) but the things I wanna do (be high by myself and take a bath, watch hockey, clean my room, stretch, write, listen to music). And I went with Broken Dreams Club. Cleared off my desk. Gonna file some shit, throw some papers and clothes out, wash some black pots... my computer belongs on my desk with my phone where they can be used for writing and listening to music. I can stand when I write. I have my foot up on the desk stretching so it's actually perfect. It's not the easiest to maintain good posture in this position though because it's a little low. I should put a block on it... Solutions, man.