February 14, 2012 Tuesday

Sleeping in until noon, I still feel sleepy. Copying more mix tapes. Still need to mail one out to dude who likes my show. Man the guy keeps flooding me with videos and crap on the web. "Friending" him online might not have been a good idea.

Tonight we have "Cafe Boo" again. Last year around this time Maddy, Carl and I were scrambling I were scrambling about Parama and Strongsville looking for shitty decorations, fake flowers, etc. Man I need to find some streamers. Streamers have a real special place in my heart. Maybe I will fantasize about the voice behind "Private number". I pick up Maddy at Path. We'll go get groceries and such things. I hopefully will have 15 or 20 dollars in tip - a - roonies waiting for me from the shift I worked for Layla at Path on Sunday. Wasn't so bad. But it's a simple thing. To get back into that swing would be submitting and falling right back into those same old self - sustaining feelings. I might also be working a weekend at the end of the month, nights instead of going to New York City with Jack Jackson and Danny, Too bad, I must visit New York Film Academy. Visit Leo and Claire.

I've spent the last few days keeping myself busy sewing on things. I managed to sew the asses of several pairs of pants back together. The bongo jeans I remember I was wearing the night I met Jackie. So odd the things we remember. And I remember so much about that night. I was wearing those pants, an MGMT shirt and a purple knit minnie mouse sweater that was too small. We danced to "My Drawers" by The Time. I think Jackie asked if I had heard the track before. I think I'll write him a letter today. Rest in Peace Whitney Houston. I tore those jeans sliding across the floor dancing with Maddy and Aaron Dawn at James Waterman's warehouse space. Small price to pay. The other pants I tore simply bending over pouring coffee beans. Ridiculous. Then a cool pair of pants Grandma Michiko made. Tore those in a snowball fight about a year ago that occured in the street on Franklin and about 73rd outside Graham's house after his party. It was pure war. I think it was a costume party. I think Carl piled snow up Maddy's skirt. Carl Finkle, who spends saturday nights like a couple of nights ago watching me sing karaoke to Whitney Houston at Tinaaas and wrestling on floors, Marty's green carpet with Chubby, Jake, Marty, Andy Goldman to Rammstein's " Du Hast" played through youtube on the television set. Little firecracker. Nights like that I haven't had since high school. We talk about people we remember from high school and the rapid. Chubby slides laying backwards down the carpeted stairs and hits his head. I don't understand where in time before these events become good ideas to these folks. Sure damn hilarious to watch and of course the carpetted stairs become a solid source of entertainment. Carl gets in a clothes hamper and shoots down, Marty on the launch. The look on Carl's face as he picks up paranormal speed down the 2nd half is unforgetable. Like a bowling ball of flesh and plastic and Jake Dion special hair cut. I see the tears in his eyes in post. Hurt his back. Like the bruises of childhood. He'll live, and he'll do it again too.

3:02 AM - After a night of great fun with food, dirty poetry, with all walks of friends, a screening of "Badlands". Maddy and I place our friend Carl Finkle on our sectional couch because he is the product of mixing wine, mom's Bailey's, beer and who knows what else. Between moments of hurling over the side of our porch, he lays, fetal position on the cushions like the kids used to lay in kindergarden for nap-time. Ass-up in the air. At the end of the night I feel not at all burdened, but happy to have Carl in our care and in our warm home. I'm happy for my friends and to have them to share in a night like tonight. I see what is happening. The mess of dishes that linger in the kitchen, how the decorative candles have become puddles of wax in-grained to the make-shift table cloths we've made of our sheets & picnic blankets. The scene of chairs arranged, or more left in a state of chaos in the movie room. John sleeps under a mound of blankets we put over him under a canopy of pink and white streamers. I wish life could be so all of the time. I like taking the time to think of this now while I know it exists in real time in the adjoining room. It's special because it is going to be what I come to remember and what I come to miss, because I love Carl and Maddy, and Granger, and all of them so much, and as much as I hope we all stick together and around each other forever, i know things are constantly changing, and you can't help that. So you just have to observe it, and live it, and try to love it all you can before it moves again. It's really a fortunate thing I've found in all of them again, and in this rotting pile of bricks we call home that has put a roof over so many wonderful experiences, wonderful nights. I think I surge on inside about it. My love for all of this and them that burns an unforgettable fire. If somebody would remember us all the way we are now, I would be alright to do so. And I'm going to man I'm so happy, I bask and think as Carl lays on his stomach, nursing his drunkenness and dreams in an oven of body heat in covers, as Maddy dreams and pretty soon all of us will be asleep and dreaming under this roof. Now, ain't that something?!

The palm tree glows in the shape of my bedroom door, where it lets the light in.