6 Years ago
Wednesday February 24th 2010, 10:23 am
Filed under: calendars,memory,self-indulgent,sober,Work Tags:

End of Feb, just re-read the month’s archives from beginning to end. The last month in a charity-room in one London flat, moved to the house, quit the job listening to calls, and Started Writing. At long last, I started fucking writing. I’ve already started, this time, but then I’ve also stopped, which is something I’ve gotta fix. Not gonna go for a run, and am contemplating starting smoking even as I radically diminish drinking, but I know precisely What Is To Be Done, just not How To Get There From Here. Other than head down, ass in chair, hours upon hours until the question is answered, is made moot (in the American sense, not the English sense). Fuck me 6 years ago reads like a lifetime ago. My heart bleeds for my grad student who got rejected by the British Library last week. So much rejection in this thing we do – no one every really warned me or told me, but even warning her, telling her, I can see how much she’s hurting. As I did, do, will.



forever
Wednesday February 10th 2010, 11:42 pm
Filed under: Boozy,Miscellaneous, Truly Tags:

Chet Baker was young, was talented, was going to live forever.  See?  He was fucking talented, unbelievably fucking young, and was going to live forever.  He was going to live forever, because he was fucking young and talented.  See?

Oh wait.  



a little night music
Tuesday February 09th 2010, 9:56 pm
Filed under: Berkeley,jazz,memory,reminiscence Tags:

More specifically, Archie Shepp and Horace Parlan, Goin’ Home.  I haven’t listened to it in ages, but it used to be the soundtrack to my falling asleep, every night, in Bezerkeley.  The not-actually-a-component stereo with the 3-CD changer and double tape deck set to a low but not unhearable volume, this CD playing.  At one point is was Part/Harrison Berliner Masse, which was trickier with the variations in dynamics.  Also, Mingus, Blues and Roots, which never worked quite as well, as most of it was inaudible at the levels necessary to not be too loud.  But Shepp and Parlan, the nighttime album before there was a morning album with Metheny, let alone the years of daily morning play.  Odd, really, that I should have changed the rituals of falling asleep to the rituals of starting the day.  Odd, too, to think that falling asleep, alone for most of those many years, was so ritualized.  Quiet music, almost invariable candles instead of a bedside lamp, writing in the now-lost journals.  (The wet-edge of goth, they said, and perhaps weren’t too far off.  But self-taught, I’ll have you know…)

Read something the other day about the end of a blog after 2+years (http://jessjosh.com/2010/02/06/its-been-real/ if you really, really give a fuck.)    Things resonated with me – the way in which the writing became a chore, became a burden, and became less helpful as a place to set out all the shit and make sense of it, became too public.  Not things I’ve put into words here, perhaps, but certainly things I’ve articulated to myself (or not) and others (or not) over the years I’ve let this site limp along.  And I’m happy to keep it limping along, I think – I don’t require the all-or-nothing commitment to things I used to demand, of myself or others.

An album of spirituals, just piano and sax.  It’s exquisite.  And making me tired.  And, from the look of it, in the mood to write.