As I was biking back from FedEx, I remembered/reminded myself that I had done a couple of the classique stupid moves.
Yes, I had emailed whilst valiant, tipsy, and righteous (and caring and compassionate). This is a huge cliché. It has replaced the answering machine message cliché (the one where the girl in the movie has to get into her paramour's apartment to retrieve the answering machine tape).
When you write, you are in a frame of mind – a mood. This aura is genuinely hard to convey. Perhaps this is what distinguishes and artist from a hobbyist. Hardly anyone ever reads your emails at 2am in the dead of night in a loose tipsy mood. No, most of these people will read your drunken emails at 9am when they are grumpy and sober.
This is what happens.
As I was biking back from FedEx, I did groan and roll my eyes and cringe inwardly; but I also, said to meself: ah well – fuck it.
This is progress.
Yet it is progress in the bitter way where you get a callous because you have distanced yourself from being that open person who cared and was gentle and passionate and believed in the great white wail.
In other news:
- I had a dream that I made sweet love to tim of happyrobot. I don't remember the reason why, but I thought it was quite strange. I had not read his column in a long long time and nothing really triggered a tim thing the day before. What are dreams? How strange.
- I went to jane's last night and thanked the gods for her existence on the way home. Her vibes infiltrated me, and I felt heard and understood and righteous (see above). I won't be drinking red wine for a day or two. My tortured relationship with the dullers and distractors.
- I have a vision of my near future life: I will read. I will live in a one room apartment in santa monica. I will invest in yoga class. I will paint a wall red. I will thrive and moan.