August 1st, 2009


The Small Hours of Noon


  • The first few words of the day in late afternoon: clumsy - the more days without a conversation the more tempting it is to think blobs of thought at people interspersed with the flow of words and expect them to pick it up. I know what it's like to argue with myself sending those chunks into the dialogue. Well-remembered sensations of things not real: this, flight in dreams
  • Poor sound system but good taste in music in coffeeshop inspires plugging in of earphones and playing the exact same song (a Death Cab for Cutie song). Curiosity: for a song we can remember perfectly, why do we still want to hear it played externally when it comes to mind? This stands in sharp contrast to an aspect of my boredom with life - knowing every choice I can make's results, smelling and seeing those memories of the Beehive or any of the other places I go to to pass the time, makes it much less interesting to do it to the extent that a lot the time I just go home and lie in bed when I don't need to be at work. Music is different somehow. Maybe it's that remembering music that way takes attention, or maybe it's an inner mechanism trying to make sure I actually do remember the music well.
  • I found a pretty leaf. On some level I am amused that I still pick up interesting rocks, leaves, etc - one of those things we get as a child and (perhaps) never discard.
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