music, the devil, and me

brant and i usually wake and watch vh1 presents 'the most awful shit that still can pass as music, somehow'. i said it all sounds the same as i first started listening to it, and now i've attuned my ear to the differences in each song, but still think it all sounds the same. no, i KNOW it does. the joys of cable. in a similar sense, i've again brought to the forefront of my mind the joys of stupid faux-emotional writing. accordingly, i give you:

'the delicacies of human emotion'

muscles quaff as tails betwixt legs,
and we all remember, again
member,
that parts of speech do not have to belong.
we're not all english teachers.
we're all english, though.

blinders on eyes,
racism exists through white lines,
the staring of clouds creates density of minds.

even tires get tired, sometimes.

Gimmy V and the XLRATOR

so the story goes that russ and i were at the highland park garbage day last month. we turned a corner, immediately and instinctually fixed our eyes on a bottle of smirnoff atop a discarded dresser. i checked the dresser and it kinda stunk, but we quickly took the bottle and were like "is this for real?" i smelled the liquid inside and it seemed a bit weak, but still vodka nonetheless. we thought for a minute and formulated the plan that perhaps a 'tween in this rich north chicago suburb drank a bit of it, and then leveled out the bottle with some mineral water to hide it from the 'rents. the father inevitably noticed the weakness of his afterwork drink, and instead of pouring it out and throwing it away (as would usually be the case, one would suspect) he made a public spectacle of the debacle by marching out to the street on bulk garbage day and slammed town the 3/4th full bottle on a throw-away dresser. fiction aside, i poured some of the vodka in an old coffee cup and tried it on the freeway during the commute back to the city. it tasted disgusting, but i think mostly because i was drinking warm vodka that reeked of old coffee. since that day, it sits on my food shelf as a reminder of what could be, anytime, and what once was of my awesome finds on highland park garbage day. the garbage vodka (nicknamed "Gimmy V", but pronounced 'Jimmy V', spelled with a 'G' to denote that it is from the garbage) will hopefully last for months to come; drinking it in a night would be all to shameful to me. we often nip at it, though, sometimes with local kombucha, in order to take the good with the bad and end even.

on an existentially relative note, but very non-sectorial by literal means, is the fact that i washed my hands during an upton's demo at the south loop whole foods. what was special about this was the device by which my hands were dried upon the finish of lather and rinse. i thought the 'XLRATOR' (found in such fine bathrooms as those supplied by gas stations in iowa, or by the new frontiers in flagstaff) was good? this shit was a white box that had two flat solid parts coming up from it, where one puts their hands between the parts on top and the drying comes at you from BOTH angles, then either evaporates or drips into a small basin and drain below. holy shit it was fun! it seemed like a prop from star wars. if i could only combine the actions of drinking garbage vodka and drying my hands at the south loop whole foods employee bathroom then i would have no need for this simple blog.

correcsive

so, since the last post, i have blacked out twice in two nights. quite a lovely couple of overnight drunks, thanks especially to keith, brant, dani, and the ol' handlebar. i had ex with my sex girlfriend. (you know). so to claire-i-fy:

extend the arms out as much as possible, complete right angles to your body, flexing muscles. concentrate on the exact chemerical processes at work, while keeping focus on the paint of your body on white life canvas. scabs up and down arms and legs don't matter as much as black drink photos and dirty dollar bills. connecting, connecting, swimming, reading.

still

watching jaws

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