November 18, 2005
"I sometimes think they're one of the greatest bands of our time." (Matthew, on The Knife)
PEOPLE ARE ABORTING FULL.GROWN.GOATS. So, like, matthew of the hobo gloves and handkerchiefs around the neck, made me the loveliest mixed CD yesterday: The Knife, Diplo, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, cLOUDDEAD, Beck, Prince, and twenty-four other songs. Today he grounded and supported me during an emotional meeting at the university--my prof is amazing. AMAZING. My friends are beyond dear to me--Matthew, I mean, I can't even express everything you've done for me in the last two days alone. And it probably didn't even seem like much, a rattlesnake caught in a wheel well:
After the meeting we smoked a joint with Kyle on campus and went to my place where Matt and Kyle played music on Casio and electric guitar while I played housewife, warming and distributing food, at times dancing along. Kyle left, Xavier came with a box of honey buns, and we smoked another joint and we were, plainly put, fucked out of our minds. So good. And we danced sporadically and insanely to the mixed CD, which seems specifically formulated to be listened to during a motherfucking state--re, holy heightening vibe-vibes and big cars/you're not a bear, nor are you a bear from The Bear. I mean, last night it was me and Matt, the same pot and pages and pages of theory and mapping. Today it was all stoner dance party, neighbours coming round to ask for vanilla, hoodies and bent-in-half laughter, early knives-- who wants to be ordinary? who wants to be sweet?:
There was a point where everyone was dancing individually in their own corner of the apartment, all with his or her own line of vision and I got caught up in gazing and that was the point where I thought they were trying to kill me with the hilarity of their dancing. There was a point where I smoked a cigar and it fucked me up so much I forgot where I was. Good, happy, body-high pot.
Xavier spent a good half hour in monologue, something about how when the monsoon hit, all the gafelta (sp??) fish were wiped out, so us Jews went to the seas, and all we had to eat was Styrofoam. Sometimes we dipped the Styrofoam in honey to, you know, make it seem like we were really full. This was alllllllll told in an accent, as he lounged on the couch. Allllllllll very Beautiful Losers. There were points where I was laughing so much it hurt like the most gut-wrenching kind of love. There was one point where I sprang up like a firecracker to dance as if out of nowhere to the Muppet-like disco (track thirteen). Gee, Miss Piggy. It was all so dumpling. & I unfortunately don't feel like explaining the origins or my feelings towards the directly preceding term of approval and endearment. We watched a Chinese film called Happy Times. The plot, including anorectic blind girl sans father, was almost too brilliant to handle for my plotless self. Though I had the subtitles down this time for real. This entry is all over the place for obvious reasons.