wildcat

Suffering Sappho! In between listening to samples of Chromeo on Christian's iPod and discussing different cultural approaches to magic realism, I managed to pump out nearly two thousand words before my darling laptop succumbed to low battery. Nearly two thousand words! The one scene, Monique and Felix in the back of the taxicab-- I've ended up trying to write that at least six times (as demonstrated by the horrors scribbled on page after page of my notebooks, aborted little scene restarts), but tonight it poured right out of me followed by another scene and the beginning of yet another. Adverbs, though, there were too many adverbs. But this is a first draft and maybe Templechurch lends herself too easily to adverbs and I'll just cut them out of Monique's sections altogether by way of balance.

Feels so good, coming as it does on the heels of the lightning rod that was last week, when Joy blew into town like a crooked carnival offering items of mysterious value and dubious honour. Like I said, New Years provided a spirit guide: a smoking playwright we met outside Michael's apartment building at 1 in the morning, stumbling out of a taxicab (in which "The Timewarp" had sputtered from the radio) and hearing tales of somebody actually going full throttle with his art and finding success in it. After the molasses I felt caught in last year, it seemed perfectly symbolic. And then days of writing postcard stories with a long-lost Renegade Poet in coffee shops, having a tarot reading she delivered with impeccable interpretation that encouraged me-- sorry, I feel rather out of breath tonight, I feel a little ragged at the edges and burning. All good filaments go to Tungsten City! The last week, the last week, it feels like ways of saying: I am not, I am not, I am not the same boy.

Which isn't to say that the year so far hasn't been fraught with melodrama and strife and ridiculousness, every week has its bad side (even last week). But I seem more capable of putting it into a box and doing something with it. I feel-- shit, this is one of those stupid, shit-eating grin New Years entries where everyone goes on at length about how THINGS WILL BE DIFFERENT, but man!

As well, there's something highly enjoyable about watching Bender's Big Score with Michael, Joy, Ian, and Steph.

Not sure how I feel about Big Bad John's right now. It seems more and more respectable every time I go in there, as if just around the corner is a black-clad hostess with a tray of martinis. They didn't have any peanuts! It was all tupperware containers with popcorn inside! Steph being able to order food! And even being provided with cutlery!