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6-29-03 // 1.04 pm "rocky v" Chilled lemon vodka, Sunday morning coffee, sugar and skim milk, compressed audio, documentary on death, quadruple overtime, fantasy baseball, semester at sea, take the test, city of the future, a salute to zeroes, spokesmodel of his generation, television monitor lizard, a man, a plan, a canal, honduras; the music of the spheres, these shall not be forgotten years. That was total bullshit. I came across a copy fo Ryan H's "cut up poems" chapbook and felt like being creative. Though I'm not so sure that I'm able to do that anymore. I used to write poems and prose, I fancied myself a wordsmith. Most of that was also bullshit, though once in a while there was a good bit. Though all of that came from a different time, a time of darkness and loneliness. I never feel inspired like that when I'm happy. Well, sometimes I do write things for Erin, but it'd probably just seem sappy to anyone else. Kind of like the way Richard Ashcroft's first solo record probably meant the world to him and his family, though to listeners it was boring. In any case, I feel inspired in other ways -- inspired to explore my city, inspired to read about new things, inspired to talk with and spend time with Erin, with people and places I love. So I suppose that is inspiration, despite that my days of fiction have passed.
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