corncob pipe

seven thirty one on a Saturday night in January. i wouldn't call myself bored. boredom implies a certain dissatisfaction - to weary by dullness, tedious repetition, unwelcome attentions, etc - while I just can't think of anything that I especially want to do. this feeling led me to look into the archives of my blog (an interest springing from a recent Facebook conversation with Pierre Retrayt) and remember a time when, when I was bored, i would come into this little space in the internet and spout off for a little while. more often than not I was saying absolutely nothing.

i plan to do exactly that now.

just found out about a new Blockhead album The Music Scene and I got it rocking on Grooveshark in the background. So far so good, and a few shameless plugs for my medias of choice.

Looking wearily at my broken record player thats been pushed into the corner. I pulled it out of the closet beneath the stairs at my parents house, only to find that the drive belt (the thing that makes it spin) was missing. So i went online and found a website that sold drive belts for old Technics models and ordered one. Waited a week, it arrived on my porch, i installed it, and then dropped a Neil Diamond gem on the platter, only to find that the needle was bent horribly out of shape. So much for that. Now I'm reluctant to buy a needle because if the thing is still broken (the motor not spinning at the correct speed, audio output fried, etc) the I will have invested $40+ into a turntable that does not work. Woe is me.

So I'm thinking about buying a new one. or at least catch one off Craigslist.

The idea is to create an environment that puts more emphasis on listening to music. Our times are saturated with so much music (radios, stereos, TV commercials, and elevators) that it feels much more like a constant background noise than a specific experience. I often find myself listening to things just because I feel like I need to fill up an empty space, not because of a certain, specific desire to hear something. Anyways, the record player addresses this issue by needing constant attention, by requiring a physical act and decision. You cannot hop between 3000 songs with a single click, you cannot create a playlist and walk away, the machine must be attended to every 20 minutes or so. Therefore, you're never going to flippantly toss whatever record on there and let it swim in the background, you're going to take the time to put something on because you want to hear it and then maybe you'll listen.

This is the idea at least. I guess the likelihood is that after two months it'll just sit in the corner of my room casting poison looks at my iPod. This is what happens to my romantic ideas. My typewriter, i'm sure, feels the same pangs of jealously right now as my fingers click so effortlessly across smooth plastic characters. I think its in the back of my closet. or the basement.

I work as a carpenter now. I work really hard, i sleep really well at night. I drive a 2005 Chevy pickup. I just painted the handles of my Skilsaw gold on a Saturday night while Shane was watching the Harlem Globetrotters with Jenna and Pat (most likely) played Call of Duty instead of coming over here to hang out. In a sense I have fallen back into an old routine that I once considered tedious but now it seems decidedly tolerable. Maybe. The ants hide somewhere in the seams of my jeans pockets, i feel them tremble slightly through their hibernation.

At this age and state of patience, i imagine I could shatter all of my previous attempts at the "Longest Blog Post Ever". It feels like I've got more to say and ways to say it, but then Mariah Bunenko's capability must have also grown and I'm sure I still pale by comparison.

this is fucking awesome music to write to. I give a thumbs up to Track 5, Attack the Doctor.

Reading some Arthur Rimbaud earlier today, holy shit. If you ever want to feel like you haven't created anything with your life, read some of the poems this kid wrote when he was fourteen. Here, I'm serious; check out the top poem, The Blacksmith
















and he seemed like such a nice boy.





but back to the blabber.

got a pipe from Thailand stuck between my teeth. the feeling is distinctly pleasurable - like a toothpick but with a hearty firmness that demands alot more resolve. You've really got to clench the thing. I long for pipe tobacco, or at least a cigarette to break up into it. I dont smoke but I've got to put the thing to use, it came from Thailand after all.

www.mollyelizabethryan.com

I'm not sure how much more I've got in me.

Writing in a blog is like writing a letter except you've lost the romance of your handwriting and probably nobody will ever read it. I think that girls like it when i write them letters because I tell them beautiful things that alot of other people will not. This is not a talent even remotely unique to me. [Boys will put you on a pedestal so that they can look up your skirt.]


have a good evening kids, be safe.