Bo-Bo-Boddhisatva
Which is the stronger word, 'repellant' or 'repulsive'?
I want the weaker one. I think the latter is the strong one, so let's eliminate it and stick with 'repellant'. Zooey and I have an on-going (kind of) joke about how we repel people - that somehow in social situations he and I seem to drive people off in droves because of our own comfortable weirdness and ability to comunicate through incomplete phrases, nonsense words and gestures.
This weekend is one of those worrisome parties at Zooey's sister's house in Jersey. It is an opportunity to watch our repellant nature in action. We actually kind of enjoy it and find ourselves laughing about it every time we look up and are alone. . . It just seems that in these situations people are just not interested in what either of us have to say. Perhaps it is just that our interests do not lay in anywhere near the same place, perhaps it is our open expression of feelings in an environment where coming off as cool or haughty is most valued. I am not sure. The funny thing is that I can still find such a situation enjoyable. It has gotten to the point that interacting with other humans, and observing their behavior is as fun as playing with a puppy or some cats or something - and just like a puppy or kitten they can get bored or distracted and wander away - but I prefer to see it as an extension of that repellant nature. I mean, who wants to be around people who look at you like a zoo exhibit?
But I am just a monkey in a hat and a trenchcoat, dark glasses over my monkey-eyes, resting on my monkey-nose, standing at the edge of the cage and realizing with dream-like certainty that while I may sometimes think I am on one side of those bars I am really on the other, standing amid the drool-covered children's toys, mashed over-ripe bananas and of course, monkey shit.
I was going to bring some of my records to play a brief set while I am there as they will have DJs playing the whole time - but the thing is that they all play techno of some kind - sure they may name it by some niggling little sub-genre name - but it all sounds the same to me with the tribal-trance-boom-boom with no poom-poom. Na'mean? I wanted to play some reggae, some dancehall, some hip-hop, some new wave, some soul, some other stuff - but I don't know if it'd be appreciated it - but honestly it is the inconvenience and weight of that damn bag of records that made the decision for me. It just seemed like too much trouble for what might just be a mess. A bag of records is a lot more a pain in the ass to carry around than a guitar (for example). Excuse? Perhaps. And perhaps I may regret not bringing them - but I will find other ways to entertain myself. Some monkey business to observe among the boom-boom with no poom-poom, because you can't really shake your ass to that music, you really can't present like a peacock ready to fertilize some plain looking peahen. I'm sorry, but I need something with some groove, and part of me wanted to hear it even if I had to play it myself - maybe that is selfish if most other people aren't going to like it - especially with those smarmy DJs that are certain to be there.
Sometimes in my life I feel so plain, so vanilla, so uninteresting, so square, so uncool, so common, hidden inside a shell of anonymity, when inside is rock star, an actor, a clown, a jester, a boddhisatva, a monkey-man, waiting to burst free, crack open and blind all those around me with divine light.
But not as often as I once did. . . I may have become that shell at some point. . .
I want the weaker one. I think the latter is the strong one, so let's eliminate it and stick with 'repellant'. Zooey and I have an on-going (kind of) joke about how we repel people - that somehow in social situations he and I seem to drive people off in droves because of our own comfortable weirdness and ability to comunicate through incomplete phrases, nonsense words and gestures.
This weekend is one of those worrisome parties at Zooey's sister's house in Jersey. It is an opportunity to watch our repellant nature in action. We actually kind of enjoy it and find ourselves laughing about it every time we look up and are alone. . . It just seems that in these situations people are just not interested in what either of us have to say. Perhaps it is just that our interests do not lay in anywhere near the same place, perhaps it is our open expression of feelings in an environment where coming off as cool or haughty is most valued. I am not sure. The funny thing is that I can still find such a situation enjoyable. It has gotten to the point that interacting with other humans, and observing their behavior is as fun as playing with a puppy or some cats or something - and just like a puppy or kitten they can get bored or distracted and wander away - but I prefer to see it as an extension of that repellant nature. I mean, who wants to be around people who look at you like a zoo exhibit?
But I am just a monkey in a hat and a trenchcoat, dark glasses over my monkey-eyes, resting on my monkey-nose, standing at the edge of the cage and realizing with dream-like certainty that while I may sometimes think I am on one side of those bars I am really on the other, standing amid the drool-covered children's toys, mashed over-ripe bananas and of course, monkey shit.
I was going to bring some of my records to play a brief set while I am there as they will have DJs playing the whole time - but the thing is that they all play techno of some kind - sure they may name it by some niggling little sub-genre name - but it all sounds the same to me with the tribal-trance-boom-boom with no poom-poom. Na'mean? I wanted to play some reggae, some dancehall, some hip-hop, some new wave, some soul, some other stuff - but I don't know if it'd be appreciated it - but honestly it is the inconvenience and weight of that damn bag of records that made the decision for me. It just seemed like too much trouble for what might just be a mess. A bag of records is a lot more a pain in the ass to carry around than a guitar (for example). Excuse? Perhaps. And perhaps I may regret not bringing them - but I will find other ways to entertain myself. Some monkey business to observe among the boom-boom with no poom-poom, because you can't really shake your ass to that music, you really can't present like a peacock ready to fertilize some plain looking peahen. I'm sorry, but I need something with some groove, and part of me wanted to hear it even if I had to play it myself - maybe that is selfish if most other people aren't going to like it - especially with those smarmy DJs that are certain to be there.
Sometimes in my life I feel so plain, so vanilla, so uninteresting, so square, so uncool, so common, hidden inside a shell of anonymity, when inside is rock star, an actor, a clown, a jester, a boddhisatva, a monkey-man, waiting to burst free, crack open and blind all those around me with divine light.
But not as often as I once did. . . I may have become that shell at some point. . .