Spend Your Time Waiting

Jesu is a great band. Just swiped the Sundown/Surnise EP yesterday, and I think it's my favorite record by them. I'm not sure which one I prefer between Conqueror and Silver; the former is more shoegaze and less metal, which is toward my usual tastes, but the latter has "Star."

Changed the url for this page. Used to be [my full name].blogspot.com. Now it is differentcities.blogspot.com. Uncertain of the consequences that will have. Either way, since this blog is decidedly unprofessional, having my name in the url is probably not the best of ideas.

In any case, what I meant to say was...I set out at 9PM last night for a walk. Too restless. Ended up at the swings in Hampden and swung on them until I felt a little sick. Then I lay down on the slide a bit.

Rather troubling when Smiths songs make more sense as I age, not less. Especially the middle sequence of The Queen is Dead. Getting suspicious that underneath Morrissey's sarcastic airs was the bitterness that the time for complaining about problems (and therefore setting them up for potential resolution) had already come and gone, and there was nothing left but the gallows humor of ridiculing everything, including oneself, for them. From that perspective, Morrissey was even more of a depressive than Ian Curtis. Ian went down singing, "gotta find my destiny before it gets too late," but Morrissey could "feel the soil falling over my head," though he survived.

Wonder what it means when I've been listening to The Smiths more and Joy Division less. I mean, of course I know what specific meaning I could extract from these observations, it's just not in my nature to spell it out.

These following thoughts were precipitated by Diamond's discussing with me a girl who saw him at Miguel's July 4th party but was "too nervous" to talk to him, so asked him out on a date through Myspace. (Ergo: you may want to stop paying attention before your mental image of me is ruined forever.) I'll be honest: it does bother me, when I allow myself to think about it, which is not very often (I keep a tight leash on my thoughts these days, except when I'm tired), that since 10th grade, which is pretty much six years ago, the number of people (girls; I've never been propositioned by gay guys, though they sneak up on me at Sonar from time to time) who have tried to initiate a relationship with me before I did anything is exactly two. The rest of the time was all filled with unrequited crushes on my part; except for periods, such as the present, when it was filled with a lack of either.

It's not like I haven't tried to be a good, at least by my own standards, human being, for that and myriad other reasons. In fact, that ends up being part of the problem: over the years I've learned, worked to perfect the things I considered at various points to be my "art," done my best to be kind and sympathetic, except when my nerves failed me--and though by my own judgment, I've succeeded, for the most part, in becoming a smarter/wiser/more understanding/more adept (at whatever it is I do) person than I was before, despite all this evolution (intentional and otherwise), solitude seems to be the one constant element of my condition (except when I took a seven-month vacation from it a couple of years back--but nobody except me seems to remember, or want to remember, that ever happened), obstinate to the point that I gradually become more obsessed with changing this one aspect of my life and more indifferent to advancements I make in all others; yet every step that I take away from that state seems to bring me back in the end. And if all the changes within my power to make cannot alter this condition, then what's there left for me to do?

Dissolve into a blob of listlessness, I expect. You kind of lose your incentive to do anything when you start accepting that the most important things in life are beyond your power to change.

Same reason I can never take comfort in my friends that much. My closer friends and I share lots: art, events, and often angst, but always in the back of my mind is the realization that eventually they will go on to separate happiness, especially since we're looking for the same damn things (why else would we be friends?), while in my life, everything changes, except the important things. Statistics and past experiences don't determine anything, but one's expectations are an exception.

I believe these sentiments have reached a saturation point, though. At least if they go any further, pretty soon I'll likely become so listless that they'll all start to seem like one big joke, and maybe then I'll finally be able to laugh, misspell "cemetery," and forget about all this absurdity.