The Daily Rick

I look back upon our talks about going too fast, taking things slow and all that with great fondness. Any time the subject would even be brought up, the fear factor would ratchet up three notches and even though things always came back to earth it always seemed, to me, to be going back a step or two.

Tonight, in the half-dark of the room, with gum on the head board and Chris Martin playing jester, we confessed with forbidden words.

I shall now drink my fill of orange juice and go back to my surreality; a strange world where I am, of all things, happy.

Quiet in her sleep-soaked murmurs,
Watching the rise and fall of her breathing,
Hypnotic in the pale yellow light of the room,
Her slumber, now firmer,
No struggle, no seething,
Peace beyond that of a tomb.

I stare with lead eyelids, angelic she lies,
My whispers fall silently still
On her lips.
None can disturb, no one denies,
Not a stir nor a spill,
Subconscious she quakes at the fingertips.

Dressed in my arms,
Draped crimson locks,
Her eyelashes dart in quick quivers.
Sleep won't decrease her sweet feminine charms,
As the world spins its clocks,
And what the night promises, it slowly delivers.

-11.25.2003

"Talking to you, girl, is like long division...." -Old 97's Singular Girl.

When I was a kid I had the worst fever dreams imaginable...just nightmarish Stephen King type shit. One of the more memorable ones involved me being trapped between the rails, completely paralyzed, as trains ran over me. Another bizarre one had me trapped in a mailbox. That's all it was. The theme was always just being trapped, being out of control. I'm not sure if the usual dream theory bullshit would apply to a 10 year old kid whose biggest concerns were watching scrambled cable and a short yet brilliant shoplifting career. But even then, I seem to have that fear of not being able to let go.

Lately, I've been letting the reins slip a bit. And you know, it's liberating. Not as liberating as, say, having the 2:10 Amtrak roll over your head, but I've been breathing a little easier...letting things happen...perhaps not pushing whatever it is away...just letting.

It's scary as hell.

Still, I am suddenly in a place where there's nothing wrong with having a terribly quiet moment. I'm not spending those quiet moments thinking about my petty little problems anymore. I am spending it thinking, though. About Wednesday night. About December 6th. About London. About Sweden. About cleaning the bathroom. About clocks and the 99 cent store and pliets and what the hell exactly is a milkshake.

I have no fucking problems. And talking to her is nothing like long division.

Early Sunday evening. I woke up today with a singular thought--okay, two thoughts, but one of them was this: I have the best friends on the planet. I'm not in the habit of mentioning names here, but just this once...thanks a trillion to Trent, BC & Debbie, Dave, Julianne, Phil, Michael, Danni, Ruth, Noa, Gosla (hooboy, that's not spelled right), Marlan, Jessica, Ed, Dave, Shika, Lindsey, Keith, Paul, Lou, Rodolphe, Benedicte, Olivier, Jason, Jennifer, Drugs, Gianni, Jenny, Francis, Amy, Shelly, Jason, John, Stephen, Breehn, Holly--fuck I hope I didn't forget anyone. But thank you for helping make the last decade of the last 3 decades tolerable.

Dave Attell, Lewis Black, and Mitch Hedberg rule all your asses. It's Saturday...do you know where your daughters are?

Por favor....no mas tequila. Por motherfuckin' favor...

It's amazing what working 5 hours after not working for 3 weeks will do to you. Okay, I'm a pussy. And I shouldn't have had a beer with lunch. Still, I feel like I just took a swim. Across the English Channel. Ah...nothin' a little caffeine won't cure.

I'm starting to think it's my right to have magical evenings. I gotta get that out of my head. But last night, reclining at the Good Luck Bar, man....the world seemed so far away. Those nobody-exists-but-us moments. Fucking priceless.

Soundtrack:

No Room To Bleed by Ben Lee
In The Morning of the Magicians by Flaming Lips
I Get Around by 2Pac
Benji's Queer by Triumph the Insult Comic Dog

Time to draw.

In the early morning hours, I feel content. There's a slight coolness in the room, and I am here and far away all at once. I can feel her trembling as she breathes from here...still, now, apart, with eyes closed and thoughts heavy. I think of how it's been and what else could possibly befall a wretched little fuck like me. Well...I've put in my time, warden. I may not know how or why any of this is happening, but goddammit, I deserve it.

Soundtrack for the next 10 minutes:

Fallen by Sarah McLachlan
So Like Candy by Elvis Costello and the Attractions

Go to sleep. I'll meet you there.

I can't stand it.

The gods have seen fit to give me another amazing, beautiful day. Which means only one thing: we're about to get a shitload of rain. Oh, how that is gonna suck blue rocks.

T minus 7 days. Fucking hell....I sure don't feel almost 30. Not right this minute, anyway.

On with the vagueness.

Okay, so...one slightly weird, off-kilter, beautiful drive later, all is right in the world. It wasn't all left before, it was just...teetering a bit.

Tonight's soundtracK:

Such Great Heights by The Postal Service
All I Have To Do Is Dream by The Everly Brothers
American Tune by Simon & Garfunkel
The Scientist by Coldplay
Stand Up by Ludacris
Kathy's Song by Simon & Garfunkel

There are days that are so remarkably mundane it sends the mind reeling. For a gun. Today sorta started out that way. Then it climaxed with this amazing show. I get enough emotional highs and lows listening to Simon & Garfunkel at home and they gotta go and make me cry in person. Stupid amazing voices and lyrics.

And now, I sit here. Dazed. Confused. Rattled. Unnerved. I wanna punch a barking dog. Kick a store-front window broken. Yell at a nun. Why do I put myself through this? Because sometimes it's the most exhilerating feeling in the world. That's why. I know....can I get any more vague? Well, I have to be. For now.

Dan Clowes was nowhere to be found tonight and the evening went off without a hitch. Junior Senior rocked the house gay at the Troubadour. You gotta love a band that does a Twist and Shout/Push It medley as an encore (as in the Beatles and Salt & Pepa).

I'm having so many grown-up conversations lately, it's really quite invigorating. Then again, maybe it's just really cold outside. Still, it's nice and sometimes I wish my car had one o' them old-school bench seats. Buckets just ain't conducive for some things.

Today is officially Tuesday. But my life is one long weekend. And everyone works on Saturday.

I had some vague recollection that my eye wanted to leave my head last night. I'm glad it didn't. I really like having depth perception.

It feels like an Eightball day today. I hope it's not an Eightball evening.

So here I was, all ready to go make a jackass out of myself yet again at a club when suddenly, my right eye decides it's gonna pretend to want to explode. It felt like some dude had the thing between his thumb and index finger and that dude was pulling on it while another guy poked it with his fat pinky. It's particularly engaging when I'm trying to navigate Highland Avenue with all this going on the right side of my head. So yeah, that sucked. The battle inside my eye lasted about a couple of hours (take that, Grenada!) then drifted away right about the time "Hey Ya!" played. (Note: No matter what club you go to, they'll play Outkast's "Hey Ya!" These cats figured out the perfect single and everybody's doing their damnest to make you sick of it. So far so good though. Im...just being honest.)

When you wake up, drive backwards to your nearest record store, do a Rockford parking job, then buy these albums:

Chutes Too Narrow by The Shins
Give Up by The Postal Service

The latter band was briefly introduced to me by one friend then imbedded in my brain by another. So naturally I'm now smitten with this album. I don't know why these new synthy bands are doing it for me these days. They're certainly not as annoying as Depeche Mode used to be.

Well, here we are again. Sunday afternoon, deep in procrastination, wondering why the hell I even bother. I think I just need a writing regimen. Anything's better than pretending I'm gonna clean my apartment. If you were one of the two regular readers from a while ago, welcome back. If you're new here, my apologies in advance.

So, yeah. It's a glorious Sunday. I got up at the crack of noon after much not-wanting-to-get-up and slid over to Priscilla's for coffee. It was a bit of a biting morning in the shade, but the coffee took care of that nonsense. The evening prior provided much needed relaxation. I had planned to go to one of a kajillion parties that seemed to be going on a random Saturday in November, but instead ended up drunk on tequila and going home relatively early. There was some commotion. A girl. A cigarette or two. A demon possession. Perhaps it was a dream. Maybe I'm channeling the Louvin Brothers. Maybe I should stop eating Nerds in the middle of the night.

Tomorrow evening, I shall be shaking my coconuts. Details later.