I ended up at Ocean Beach last night, listening to the White Album in its entirety. That album is genius, man. Being there at that time of night wasn't supposed to mean anything, but I think it was pretty heady anyway because I got home after 1 o'clock and I was so out of it, near passed out on the couch, finally crawling into bed without brushing teeth. It's not like it was a rehearsal or anything . . .

The feelings have started in putting up a resistance. They're pretty intense, too. Waves of them piercing through me, like if you could feel neutrinos. I guess I could have expected them. Fascinating. Fascinating? What the hell is wrong with me? FEEL, goddamit!! Whatever.

I've been overwhelmed this past week with thoughts about what I should have been doing these past six months, books I should've been reading/studying, music, writing, something, anything, whatever I haven't been doing for the past six months.

It's at that point of desperation and regret, making me think I should postpone and run with these feelings and start doing those things now with renewed fervor. But that would be missing the point, wouldn't it?

The point is that I haven't been doing those things for the past six months. Wanting to do them with renewed fervor while standing on the threshold, the leading edge, is just an excuse, a distraction. Fuck. I don't know what I'm gonna do, while feeling what I need to do. This is the way it's supposed to be, it's not supposed to be easy.

What else? Get a job?


August 15, 2003; 12:48 P.M. - Geniuseses


August 14, 2003; 11:46 P.M. Ocean Beach. Just like the lyrics in the song.


August 14, 2003; 11:13 P.M. - a half-hearted dress rehearsal?