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The PhiLLer
That's Just Insipid!
The Cocktail Sermons

 
The concrete was cold on my ass. Not really cold enough to make a difference through the exterior layers of fleecy coat and courderoy, but cold to touch. I knew that I was going to feel icy soon enough, however, despite the temperature outside. I had my little speeches about candor and directness, and maybe it was moot, maybe it wasn't - I didn't know, and whose to say and - and then I stopped shouting stinky fish and launched into it. I just started speaking, simply, directly, to whatever the point was that was on my mind. That's not to say that it was all laid bare - if anyone's mind can ever really truly be laid out to someone else, let alone one's heart - but I did my best to carefully deal with the situation. He wasn't speaking. He wasn't even really looking at me. It echoed back // "He'd worship you" / "I don't want to be worshipped." / "Yeah, I know." and all the Stone Roses tried to tell me wouldn't convince me otherwise. And we sat there. I was looking at the way the trees meshed together in an Eisensteinian photo-perfect cut splice collision of beauty, and the Asian aesthetics in me really took to it. And we weren't speaking. I just sat looking from underneath the covered walkway towards the arboritum adjoining, and made extra disclaimers about hurt and pain and instability and needing to be alone, because, afterall, that is what I need.

Alone and not lonely is what I need, but it's a difficult commodity to come by these days.

Eventually he leaned over and grabbed the Jamiroquai black hat off the top of my head and put it on his own. I felt like a strange reversal of Delilah, and my strength was gone momentarily for the lack of head covering. All that was left was a bunch of red locks, somehow allowed to grow long again after all this time, dangling in suspense for the words he was to speak. He did want to give it a try - then, now, whenever - and I just told him that I had issues...that I wasn't really stable by myself, let alone with anyone else. He didn't seem to understand; I didn't want to explain. He put the hat back on my head. We sat like that for some time, until he put his arm around me - around my waist around - and it made me feel extremely uncomfortable. I eventually told him that I had to go, full well knowing that I was too delicate, that we weren't on the same page afterall. I was too delicate. The goddamned candor queen was too delicate. You can't just say to someone that you don't want to be with him, and that, yea, it had to with him in particular, that you just weren't attracted to him, didn't feel that way about him. I already saw him turn inward and get colder as I said my piece - why be cruel about it all?

Lines in the sand, after all, have to be drawn; but sometimes it's more prudent to draw them in drying concrete - they'll last longer.

 
Vignette

I walked into his apartment in the most usual way -- it was already about 12:30am, if not later, and still I knocked on the door. I had a way of standing breathless in doorways before people ever came to the door - maybe it was the three flight walk up to get there, maybe it was something else entirely. Still, I stood at his doorway, thinking "what the hell am I doing here" combined with "let's keep it business" this time. No crossing of lines, and all that. Somewhere between adolescence and now, I managed to become fairly good at messy, confusing, dramatic situations. Go figure. Either way, I was at his door, full well knowing that we'd had the last in a series of conversations about on again off again bullshit - and we'd finally come to some sort of agreement about who we are and why we can't be together. He answered the door with his "HEEEEEEY!" that is both effusive and slowly Southern, and I stepped inside from the briskness of the night air. I'd say it was cold, but hell, it was Tennessee in December - cold doesn't exactly fit into the equation. It's more of a cold December rain down here (as opposed to November ra-ee-ain), and even though it might chill you as much, it just seems mamby pamby in comparison to the snow that happens in the northeast since oh, October or so onward.

He walked me to what he endearingly termed his "office" - which was really his bedroom / makeshift musical studio. It was sweet in a way, that he referred to it as such - the conversion really just being a keyboard on his desk that he diligently tried to play - and the progress wasn't great. He pounded out chord after chord, and the theory in me came flooding back - oh, well, it depends on what you want the root of the chord to be...that's in first inversion and...try it like this... I'd forgotten I had all that in me, it had been such a long time. I could have been a much better pianist, if only I'd practiced. I was in highschool, so my lack of interest (well, lack of practice anyway, I was plenty interested) had no excuse to back it up. He started playing the opening three chords of "Lean on Me" and some other various strains of half songs. It made me think of Zuzu's petals and her attempts at piano stylings. That always moved me, but this just kind of upturned the edges of my mouth in a pleasant way. After he was done showing me what he had - from the new thrift store shirts acquired that day, to recorders, old walkmen, and speaker wire splicers - I sat down in the chair momentarily and played the smatterings of piano that I knew - a little jazz, a little Debussy, and by comparison, sure, I seemed great. It's just that musicianship in my blood. I would have felt a touch bad about showing him up like that, if only for our friendship and his earnest attempts at self taught intrumentation...but then I remember how he's always in a dick measuring contest with story to top story to top...you get the idea. I might as well take him down a notch when I've got the chance.

It was all very comfortable and poetic - as I walked in to speak with his roommate about a trip to Spain and his love for Shiela (pronounced Selah), although all that was implicit in a conversation about an inheritance and the fixin to fix of automobiles and the shopping for plane tickets to Sevilla. Made me want to jet set the fuck outta here, but there's time enough for that, surely. We talked about Spain and old friends and crazy women and the two of them together just seemed to illuminate the relationship and roommate-osity of it all. I learned more about the formative years and what bands and 4 H can do for a person than is imaginable.

I left, maybe quarter to two...afterall, I had things to do this morning. He walked me to the door, we hugged and he said that it was kinda sad - the only time he sees Lucas or myself is when we stop by his place...and in true fashion, I called him out on his shit (he gave me a Pices puppy dog look to counter my accusations) because, like I told him, someone has to.

 
I graded for practically seven hours straight yesterday.

Then I had a nice dinner with a friend.

Then I went home; watched about 20 mins of THE ROYAL TENENBAUMS.

Then I called Larry; we spoke for over an hour.

Then I went out.

Then I slept.

 
How's about this for a title:

"Ignorant, Striving, Knowing: A Critical Examination of the Contradiction of the Philosopher King"


It's diggity done, children!

Now I have to grade grade grade my life away!


and there's that little matter of a Wittgenstein paper that is probably going home with me....

but light at the end of the tunnelvisionofasemester indeed!

 
Can I get PAID?

So here's the thing...I was slated to TA in the spring semester for a stipend...but I was just informed via email that the stipend has increased in size (can we say it has been more than DOUBLED?), and that my tuition has been waived for the spring semester! This is good news for the the EB!

So do a little dance in your living room for me like you're listening to "Golden Years," cuz I'm frickin' excited.

Still miles to go before leaving for the semester, but this puts my efforts into a more positive spin.

 
I need to be myself.
I can't be no one else.
I'm feelin' super sonic
give me gin and tonic
you can have it all
but how much do you want it?


--- Oasis "Supersonic"

 
what happened to us?
soon it will be gone forever
infatuated only with ourselves
and neither of us can think straight, anymore...

-- Blur, "The End"