the soundtrack to this blogpost will be the the indie rock gods, the hold steady . they have great musicality, a frontman with one of those voices that’s almost tom waits-like in its gravelly, untrained, nontraditional appeal. and more than that, they sing songs about criminals and religion and drunkeness, all topics close to my heart. they manage to weave stories about really heartbreaking characters, that i can’t help but fall in love with, no matter their irascibility or profound insecurities. and hey, they’re a new york band, and i haven’t featured a new york band in too long if ever. which all sorts of shameful, now idn’t it? especially considering, they embody and personify the fact that there’s still really amazing art being made, even in the world of indie rock, and shit, they’re the ultimate rock n roll fairy tale.
“excuses and half-truths and fortified wine, i know it’s unlikely she’ll ever be mine”
i’m laying here on my stomach as a i write this, my back all sorts of bent out of shape. in rather great pain and only semi-mobile at best.
oh wrestling, how i missed thee.
if’n you know anything about wrestling… the following explanation will make sense, if’n you don’t, then i’ll sum up and put it in layman’s terms afterwards. i had shot and was under a sprawl, was sitting out hard while going for a single-leg or a highcrotch. as i sit out, my knee pad slips and my back twists in all sorts of awkward directions. so here i am, all injured, having pulled a muscle in me back rather hard. bloody hell.
translated: i fucked up my back wrestling.
which is absolutely perfect, as i will be helping a friend of mine shoot a movie early tomorrow morning. and especially since i had made the pledge to work out at least a little bit everyday. but i persevere like a man’s hands will, getting tougher for the nicks and the callouses and the dirt engraved.
this post is/will be full of all sorts of wo/andery, i know, but i felt like i needed to write today because i hadn’t written in so long. it was necessary. i’ve been caught up in school and life and just trying to figure out my path, a naïve novice of an astrogator trying to find my way through the stars, with a bottle of whisky in one hand and a lopsided love affair on the other.
considering how much the last few sentences have been overwritten, you can obviously tell there’s a deep desire within myself to write, fancifully and romantically, with a shaky smirk and floating, flying fingers.
the fact that i’m almost immobile and therefore have no outlet onto the world except my words has nothing to do with it. really.
but at the same time, writing, if not rambling onwards, is a fundamental part of who i am, it’s a muscle within myself that links together and holds up so many other things, but if it isn’t used, it starts to ache and atrophy.
hence posts like this, that go nowhere and always end up back where they started.
but not yet, not until they’ve navigated some inner waters, stirred up the bottoms and made murky the clarity that comes with shallow perceptions. so let me link something that i’ve only recently discovered and grown rather fascinated by, Schott’s Vocab. It’s a NY times blog that defines and traces the origin of a bunch of random turns of phrase in our vernacular. it’s really kind of dope, especially considering my fascination with language. it shows us straight out how fundamentally mutable english is, how dynamic it can be as a living realm upon which human beings building meaning however they can.
which reminds me that i need to stop using academic speak in real life conversations, because really… “therein lies the issue” and “problematic” are not phrases you should be hearing outside of academia… and when you do, they’re like a slap in the face, both for me saying them and you hearing them. balls.
if anyone was wondering about the title, it’s a reference to a friend of mine’s blog. i think i’ll be making a lot more subtle references to the people in my day to day life as i go on. it’ll be full of teh lulz.
but all things, good, bad, come to and end, and so does this blog post.
with me, on the floor of my one bedroom apartment in pain, wishing you all the happiest and safest of saturday nights. wishing you libations and throwaway love affairs, grins in your gin and fingertips barely brushing. i’ll try to post more… not let such huge gaps come about as they once did.
life is an in-joke with one hell of a punchline, however you wanta interpret that.