Szamár Madár

Days are coming through me like freight trains. Too many exams, too many assignments, too many gigs. And I'm taking it easy by some people's standards. I don't care. My standards are the ones that have an impact on me. Barely have time to think; when my train of thought finally gets a moment to pick itself up I'm in another place entirely. But, if I don't collect at least a couple of times a week, I'm going to lose it.

Too many nights in a row at the Hut and it all starts to seem a little bit surreal. It's so bright in here, and so dark outside, it's like the outside world has just melted away. You start to think that people never talk except distantly and in suppressed twitters. You start to think the nights don't end. Which is why it's always such a shock when they do--but I haven't gotten that low this semester yet.

It's getting warmer. Sudden heavy snow on Sunday but even that didn't stand a chance, started melting as soon as it hit the ground, and now it's almost all soaked back into the ground. Not even ice. All sludge.

We're rewriting "East." Took nearly all the funk out of it. That's a good thing, I think. Just want to write music that sounds good, even if it's not always fun playing.

Saturday night, went to a party at Nik's place. I barely even know the guy, but he has good attitude, and I once spilled some sangria on his kitchen floor. Anyway, they wanted the guests to dress up, so I obliged, which is really not that hard for me. I ran into Valerie of Marx, Freud, and Modern Critical Theory fame, and we stood around for an hour and a half, while other kids swarmed around and past us, reflecting on whether it was possible for a society to promote critical thought in its own constituents--essentially, can a society be established that undermines itself? But on the other hand, it seemed to both of us that if it was impossible, then a stagnant doom appeared the only possible outcome. And it all started with her brief remark about how Dr. Gold believes the world is going to end--a man after my own apocalyptic heart, that Dr. Gold. We were still standing around, barely even having drank anything (couple of champagnes for her and a gin and tonic for me), as the crowd thinned around us, and when she left she told me I was one of the most intelligent people she liked to have conversations with. Or something, I could've heard wrong. Ego kicker? Yes, especially since I have very high respect for Valerie as well--wise but not cynical for her (only one year less than mine) age.

Also joining Valerie and me in our discourse was Valerie's friend Claire, who--outrageously pink hair notwithstanding--bore, at least to my very abstracted and figurative interpretation of things, an uncanny resemblance to a certain Ceci whom I know from high school. People who know me from high school might imagine right about now that I'm about to get myself into some sort of disaster, and I'll admit I was a bit unnerved at first, but neither the times nor the people are the same...either way I invited both of them to the Ottobar show on Saturday (so things start). Consequences to be determined. Her hair's still crazy, though.

Digging up blasts from the past: Venetian Snares certainly (Rossz Csillag Alatt Született is now almost without question one of my all-time favorite albums), but more significantly, been listening to a lot of Guided by Voices the past couple of days. Guided by Voices is not winter music. Now that we seem to be on the brink of an early spring, Bee Thousand seems appropriate again; thing is, I don't think I've taken a good listen to that album the entire past year. I remember talking to Caroline about why I didn't listen to GBV anymore: because they're too tightly tied with a more blissful time in my life I knew I could never retrieve. Two years (two years seems to be a pretty key phrase in various lives lately).

Does this mean I was wrong? Is it possible that some part of me in that period of time can now be salvaged? If I left this music behind for a year, does that mean I left some part of myself behind as well? And if it comes back to me in the present, does that mean the part of me that I left behind can be brought back, into the present as well?

I wouldn't call it seasonal affective disorder, but sometimes it seems that, while I love winter, and winter is absolutely necessary in my life (would never settle in the tropics), it's mostly a time for me to wrap myself up in a cocoon of introspection, and do what insects do when they're in their cocoons: deconstructive metamorphosis. Or something like that. Maybe it's just essential that I spend two to three months every year taking myself apart and putting it all back together. Spend a few months being uncontrollably analytical and critical. Hitch that train and spend the spring trying to find my way back. Is that it?

But a couple of things have happened recently which forced me, almost unconsciously, to bring my kinder side out of retirement--only for me to remember that side was one of the most important reasons I ever liked myself in the first place. So maybe there's a mission: re-learn kindness.

Went swimming on Sunday night (exercise? shock! horror!). Was going to try join the Swim Club, but they had cancelled due to the snow (obviously as a non-member I was not notified of this), so I swam for half an hour, and the only other person in the pool--she was a lifeguard so she could keep the pool open--was, of all the luck...someone whose first impressions I got through a friend, and, if I were the type who went by indirect first impressions, I probably would get far away from. Anyway. Three things I'd forgotten I remembered that evening: how much I enjoy swimming, how much it taxes my upper arms and legs, and how goddamn out of shape I am. Something's wrong when your muscles start debating your imperatives to pull your body through the water after little more than 20 minutes. Hopefully that will be remedied soon. If not, well, I don't think anyone would really be surprised.

3AM. Still feeling like I'm fighting an uphill battle against life and circumstance, but at least the feeling of imminent death has alleviated somewhat. Tried to get all this down in an attempt to buy my sanity some time, but the late hours may nullify my efforts. Worthy trade-off? I don't suppose I'll ever find out, will I?