I purchased two books of poetry yesterday. One is a book on poetics, and the other is a bookbook. A normal book. This was after taking a crew out to mother's day brunch at a sporty Café in James Bay.
Played a show in Nanaimo and had a great time. Joy has said much about it, and Ryan has the photographic evidence.
Rehearsed last night for a good three hours. Nothing like feeling warmed up to the drumkit, unthinking about fills and pulling them off. Although when I listen to the jam tapes I often wonder why I'm so wanky inbetween songs. Bizarre tom-tom runs with no pattern or time signiature. Unifished thoughts, directed at nothing.
Today I'll do some reading, try and be inspired by technique, and tonight we host the Monday Night Writing Thang. I always have fun. Although I feel like working on a short story, or something that will be more relevent when I look back to it. Not that there's any sort of animosity between myself and the Night. I just need to make as many excuses to write a short story a month. I just started one. I wrote down two feeble paragraphs the week prior and then tried to extrapolate some meaning, symbols, things to use as the "plot" develops. I want to resolve issues before the ending, but not all of them. But most of all, I want a chalice, filled with blood.
Posted by matty-b at May 10, 2004 12:09 PM