crutches
Yesterday's converation with Garbes about the beauty of a hook umbrella seemed to anticipate the rain today. I drove to search earlier, with success in the discovery of not one but two hooked-ended umbrellas; one for me and the larger Estee Lauder one for Garbes, being more fitted to his taller frame. Happiness is an umbrella that functions more as a cane, letting the hook spin around your wrist as you point to the street and to the walls.
Anyone interested in a creepy movie? I watched "God's Comedy", a 1996 movie from Portugal, last night with Ryan. The sexual deviations and fantasies of a gaunt ice cream maker, one who indifferently throws cigarettes burnt to the filter on a stray cat of Lisboa, in explicit lurid detail. Let me paint a picture: this man,João, is washing a 14 year old girl in his bathtub filled with milk when he says to her,"let the stellar rains of your lustral urine rain upon my head" and then puts his head between her legs. Later he siphons the milk from the basin so he can make ice cream with her "perfume". He also collects her pubic hair from the tub to add to his enormous book of pubic hair samples, the book labeled in ornate writing "Livro dos Pensamentos"(book of thoughts). Keep in mind that my Portuguese professor informed me as I borrowed the movie that this particular film in indeed "one of the more accessible films from Portugal".
So I don't take the time to write in this blog very often, though I avidly check the entries of others. I take classes everyday and spend my afternoons studying books and texts either on campus but usually at a coffeehouse on Main St. Cedar Falls. I work four nights a week from 10pm-1am, sweeping out practice rooms at a UNI music building, only to operate a trigger propelled carpetriever through the halls later. My descent into piano begins again, as I'm practicing a piano transcription of a Bach organ prelude, a liturgical piece representing his yearning for Jesus Christ. The other piece is a Debussy prelude painting a picture of the delicate beauty of a young Scottish girl with flaxen hair. I play in a reggae band every other weekend at a Jamaican coffeehouse with Matt Andreini, Eric Krieger, and my friend Pedro from Brasil. We play Jamaican and Brazilian reggae tunes. It's calming. Otherwise I'm playing jazz with Eric and Nathanial again.
My friends and I have gone to ridiculous anonymous parties these last three weekends, each more ridiculous. The first was a dance party that we crashed, bringing our own mixes, eating all their food, and being rambunctious in their living room dancing hard until everyone else left and the room floor lamps were lit as a hint to leave. The hint was not respected. The next week was a party of even more anonymous origin, and we responded by comandeering the living room hookah from the other people and owner, smoking it all night while berating and critizing it the entire time. Hookah tobacco is the pretentious equivalant of smoking a fog machine, and we let them know all night as we blew ridiculous clouds from our noses and rings from our lips. Last night was the most cliche college party that I had ever witnessed. Live Zepplin was blaring in the living room, and Ryan and I jumped on their couches to rock hard, because it's not really a party until you're standing on something as you party. I also managed to find a band of chips and a glass of salsa that I destroyed with apparent glee. This was the time of place where I wanted to throw a glass bottle expelled of beer at their living room wall, because in all honesty it wouldn't have dirtied the house any more than it already was. I'm convinced that a broken case of bottles is already scattered in shards throughout the home already. I'm having fun on occasions like that, but it's all a distraction from my preoccupations, and brother I've got a lot of them.
Anyone listen to the Band? I haven't been able to stop.
Anyone interested in a creepy movie? I watched "God's Comedy", a 1996 movie from Portugal, last night with Ryan. The sexual deviations and fantasies of a gaunt ice cream maker, one who indifferently throws cigarettes burnt to the filter on a stray cat of Lisboa, in explicit lurid detail. Let me paint a picture: this man,João, is washing a 14 year old girl in his bathtub filled with milk when he says to her,"let the stellar rains of your lustral urine rain upon my head" and then puts his head between her legs. Later he siphons the milk from the basin so he can make ice cream with her "perfume". He also collects her pubic hair from the tub to add to his enormous book of pubic hair samples, the book labeled in ornate writing "Livro dos Pensamentos"(book of thoughts). Keep in mind that my Portuguese professor informed me as I borrowed the movie that this particular film in indeed "one of the more accessible films from Portugal".
So I don't take the time to write in this blog very often, though I avidly check the entries of others. I take classes everyday and spend my afternoons studying books and texts either on campus but usually at a coffeehouse on Main St. Cedar Falls. I work four nights a week from 10pm-1am, sweeping out practice rooms at a UNI music building, only to operate a trigger propelled carpetriever through the halls later. My descent into piano begins again, as I'm practicing a piano transcription of a Bach organ prelude, a liturgical piece representing his yearning for Jesus Christ. The other piece is a Debussy prelude painting a picture of the delicate beauty of a young Scottish girl with flaxen hair. I play in a reggae band every other weekend at a Jamaican coffeehouse with Matt Andreini, Eric Krieger, and my friend Pedro from Brasil. We play Jamaican and Brazilian reggae tunes. It's calming. Otherwise I'm playing jazz with Eric and Nathanial again.
My friends and I have gone to ridiculous anonymous parties these last three weekends, each more ridiculous. The first was a dance party that we crashed, bringing our own mixes, eating all their food, and being rambunctious in their living room dancing hard until everyone else left and the room floor lamps were lit as a hint to leave. The hint was not respected. The next week was a party of even more anonymous origin, and we responded by comandeering the living room hookah from the other people and owner, smoking it all night while berating and critizing it the entire time. Hookah tobacco is the pretentious equivalant of smoking a fog machine, and we let them know all night as we blew ridiculous clouds from our noses and rings from our lips. Last night was the most cliche college party that I had ever witnessed. Live Zepplin was blaring in the living room, and Ryan and I jumped on their couches to rock hard, because it's not really a party until you're standing on something as you party. I also managed to find a band of chips and a glass of salsa that I destroyed with apparent glee. This was the time of place where I wanted to throw a glass bottle expelled of beer at their living room wall, because in all honesty it wouldn't have dirtied the house any more than it already was. I'm convinced that a broken case of bottles is already scattered in shards throughout the home already. I'm having fun on occasions like that, but it's all a distraction from my preoccupations, and brother I've got a lot of them.
Anyone listen to the Band? I haven't been able to stop.