things have happened, of that much we can be certain. very little, though, remains from the scattered clearings of (yes) the forest of my memory. let's drop a flare into my relative depths and see what catches the light.
rejection letters mass like a losing hand, the uniform characterless blanks of the unconditional no. someone even sent my synopsis back without a solitary note - a very palpable diss.
the last ICFTHS was a success. the next one is saturday. i have socialized some but not so much. i am a third of the way through the third draft of lacklove. my Tracy + the Plastics interview is to appear in a trans-european magazine that has a run of 500,000 and 5 languages and still i am not paid, hahaha hohoho hehehe.
ended up lodged in a house-cum-venue on saturday, some awful hour of the am, band burning thru rock'n'roll classics to basement crush of firelit faces as a homemade sign on the wall behind welcomed us to 'the void'. then they turned on the drum&bass and we dropped out into the garden. it got light.
yeah, it got light, we were out of drinks, the music cut and we sheltered against a wall, called taxis, found a warm room the other side of town. i stayed long enough to exchange a handful of sentences (in, like, an hour or so) walked home, slept, the etc, the etc.
maybe i cd finds something interesting to say if i thought super-hard, but, as has been observed, the past is another country and i don't speak the language (clearly untrue, but too neat in every sense to resist - forgive me).
my new word is 'ridonkulous'. it is a minor miracle i made it this far without dropping it. i have spent the last three painful days trying to find guitarish songs i can play in the club. it is not going so specially well. the songs that excite me i cdn't play at the club, and the songs i cd play in the club don't excite me. big brother will not claim my soul, o no.