On Sunday, December 23rd, Year of Our Lord 2007, I ate, did and thought the following things.

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What I ate and watched, where I am physically located, what I am working on, upcoming plans. For raw documentary purposes, your entertainment, or both.

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I spent yesterday finishing How Can I Hand You a Diamond?:

Since last time I’ve watched Breach, Stand By Me, Lost in Translation (3rd time), Shawshank Redemption (3rd time) and Haven. Half of each of these while I worked on CX Asylums (~120 pages this week), “followup” to CX Styles which Travis has and precursor to CX Mamet and whatever else. I wanted to finish Asylums this weekend but lo, I began to take my time, breaking the cardinal Fast Runner rule of the project.

My mom and I went to dinner tonight at a restaurant near Scranton. My mom asked me if found the music offensive. I didn’t, but the low lighting was somewhat unpleasant. This was remarkable because, taken as a general, what happened was this: A person thought a thing I cannot control that I hadn’t noticed was upsetting me, but it was in fact a different thing that I cannot control that they hadn’t noticed that was upsetting me. The key philosophical questions that arise are A) What does a person’s misreading of what in your shared environment is bothering you tell you about how that person conceptualizes you; B) [How] does this simple miscommunication affect other conversation; C) Is there ultimately a difference between being distracted by one thing or another in this way (minor and ambient), except in the difference between a second person’s perception or misperception of your distraction and how that plays out as in question A.

At dinner I had a gin and tonic. It was Gordon’s Gin and I tried to tell my mom some “tales of the unbreakable bottle” but she doesn’t like to talk about my drinking. Earlier in the day we had a hilarious car ride back from the mall, where we went to buy shirts for business breakfasts but instead ended up buying paint pens, during which she was appalled at the thought of using paint pens to write graffiti.

Also, let it be known that none of the above is a metaphor for or pointer to anything else in my life, nor is any of it a rhetorical secret internet message. However there are secret internet messages elsewhere in this entry.

I’m going to sleep now, back on a normal schedule. Tomorrow I’m going home and hopefully out to Lancaster and Monday I’m going to New York and Tuesday we’re playing a show and Wednesday I think I’m going to Boston.

I slept in my childhood bedroom last night for the first time in a few years and tonight – though I was planning to go back – I’m sleeping in my room in the attic. I walked up the night steps at 6am after drinking a bottle of wine and I turned off all the lights and looked out at the 1996 streets from behind my old curtains.

Long day

Beach Blurts:

• Early report from abroad circa three days ago

We’ve been stuck in North Carolina for a week. We have been camped out at Nathan’s house in Leland for three days.

Today I watched Die Hard, Die Hard with a Vengeance and Transformers. Yesterday I watched Pan’s Labyrinth. Both days I went swimming in the ocean.

Previously, in Asheville, I was too tired to have fun. We went to an amazing swimming hole in Transylvania County but I had no energy left to swim. All I could do was sweat amazing negativity into the ground

• Late report from the anti-universe circa two weeks ago

Windmuth as saying, the birth of Bird is a lagnoll, my lagnoll: Once in a tooth she germinated and she was born. A lagnoll, my lagnoll:

The sound from a tooth. The ringing from the flesh of a bone split and exposed in an open mouth. The bone sings and the mother-mouth is in rapture of the glorious sound of its child lagnoll. Her mouth a perfect theater ringing with bird’s song and its private glorious pain. A lagnoll, my lagnoll:

She cracked her bone egg and cried for a year from her cradle. Her cries were mistaken for vision and the open mouth, electric with suffering, couldn’t protest.

At first only family and neighbors knew what had appeared in their old friend’s mouth, but the word spread. By the tenth month her eyes shone like emeralds from his rotted gums, but the crowds that had gathered to hear her infant wail neither wanted nor needed to get so close. Blood and spit dripped from their old friend’s lower lip and for days at a time tears flowed freely from his eyes. They cleaned his wrinkles and his growing beard and his face looked holy after his many months of loving pained concentration. None came near for fear of disturbing or interrupting the bell in his mouth, the calls of the newborn baby Bird, my lagnoll, who answered all questions and comforted all worries in soft, clear tones.

I I thought the mountaintop was solid ground
I thought the sea the swamp

• Right now I am listening to rap music at the beach, doing my work. I’m fixing my phone today. If I owe you an email or a call it’s coming.
• Killer dreams last night.

My eyes watered and my nose ran all through the Murfreesboro night. I woke up in the early morning in the dark, soundproofed band room – next to my amps and the beer I had spilled on them – to steal wireless and update websites for work. I was swimming with Patrick and Mike in the 3am Susquehanna two weeks earlier. It may have been that morning, after making a panic-stricken left into a Kentucky Waffle House, positive that the local sheriff several cars ahead was displeased with my pushing through a yellow light, that my mother called to tell me that someone had drowned. A ninth grader, she said, who was fishing with two friends off of the island, swept away by the river. I can’t stop thinking about that poor kid and how he couldn’t float. I think about him every time I jump.

I swam in a pool for the first time this summer. It was yesterday, in West Chester Pennsylvania. Late last night I swam in it again. The sky was clear and the moon bright and full.

Susy and I are driving south to Asheville tomorrow, by way of Richmond and back through Columbia and Savannah. With any luck, this will be the first year I see fireworks since 2001. With a reasonable amount of luck, an orchestra will be playing the 1812 Overture while they explode. With inspirational levels of world-bending outluck, an orchestra will be playing either Sister Ray or your choice of songs from Versatile Arab Chord Chart.

I had elevator dreams last night and another set of dreams from “the worried castle.” The elevator had no roof and no apparent suspension, like a floating ski lift chair with an open back. It flew diagonally through a room that slanted upward, somewhere between a nubby carpeted floor and an invisibly distant, black ceiling. Tall white windows, each hundreds of feet high, let in gray light that didn’t illuminate any more than the texture of the carpet. I could see from how high I was that the floor was shaped as if in a gigantic staircase, with each step at least twenty feet high or more. Four other people were in the elevator with me when it left, down a shaft that seemed like a bucket into a well, but there was only one with me in the room with high ceilings. I can’t remember who it was; we didn’t speak. I found a notebook from early 2005 while I was emptying my room on 49th Street and it had early references to The Reservoir. These new-fangled dreams have nothing on The Reservoir or the dream-locales of yesteryear. I hope I finish with this indoor crap and can get back to the waterways before I leave for camp.

Life.

Wine-life on the anti-frontier: My brother and I watched Raising Arizona and I drank 30% of the liquid contents of the house. The weather is nice and the food is plentiful and the river is high. We lit a fire tonight. Nobody played Scrabble but I finished a crossword while my dad watched Borat The Movie, regularly farting and being smug about it.

Uh let me see, what are some good inside jokes and allusions to things I did with one specific person who, if they were reading this, would be the only person who could possibly know what I’m talking about that I can put in here this time?

Been manufacturing the new myth in the early hours, dreaming it and then waking up and finding that it’s all so suddenly real. Rambling life action: can’t control my hands or my eyes or my mouth when I’m asleep, wake up regularly with calluses from sleep-guitar, no voice from sleep-reciting, red eyes from wide-eyed at dreams. Wake up and all of the food is gone except for a neat plate of leftovers, and how did I learn to cook and arrange so well in my sleep, and at what store did I find those ingredients in the night? It’s simple: I am that persuasive in my sleep. I talked my way in and bought them from the usual grocer, who closes at ten but was persuaded to let me into the blue morning light store 5am early, and to put on the record of my choice over the store’s public address system while I shopped (Velvet Underground self titled). Wake up and my clothes are all mended and my fingernails are trimmed, wake up and my work is all done and my drawings all finished, wake up and my recordings are mastered, videos finally shot and trips all planned, baroque sketches for the future on bedsheets, legs sore from hundreds of miles of bike riding up on the long path to the river where we swim and play in the mud, summers of the future stretching out like perfect tigers languid full and lithe

Revised schedule:
- Driving to Chicago in three weeks or so, possibly driving further to Madison, gone maybe ten days
- Band tour of the northeast end of April / beginning of May
- Moving out of the house, back to the street end of May
- Two week band tour 1st half of June
- Family vacation / various obligations 1st half of July
- July 21 – August 21 camp
- September coalescing?
- October band tour

At Fez restaurant with Susy two or three weeks ago I heard the record that’s the basis for every tape loop on Muslimgauze’s Jebel Tariq.

Saturday night =

1) the number of times I have watched the Seventh Seal while doing work over the last eight years
2) Geno + Alice tearing each other apart all over the house forever
3) Kynar House of the Future built from the ground up
4) instances throughout history where a person cooks one giant pancake while NPR sputters and chirps away in another room (not bothered about doing a good job of making four decent and shapely pancakes, but by oneself and hungry)
5) litterboxes I have known and feared
6) cats I have been allergic to
7) neighbors I have heard through walls
8) neighbors I have seen through windows
9) cars that slowed down on Susquehanna Ave in front of my house and scared me nightly 11pm circa 1991
10) last night my brother texted me at 2:38am the following:

Ever get drunk and feel awful like u have the weight of the world on your shoulders and you cant articulate the love u have for those who are closest to you

11) fingers scored from strings
12) work all day on the couch and move upstairs to work all night on the other couch

finished inking markers poster five days after the fact, fake tour last weekend ruled, playing on Monday at big pink, working non-stop + working non-stop, haven’t been home in a week, listened to two of the Tower Recordings records today and totally felt it, lots of cleaning to do tomorrow

Part 3: the usual story told in order from start to finish.

Left late on Wednesday from Philadelphia. I didn’t complete any of my projects on time and brought them to Mike’s. Amber helped me fold and staple two zines while Mike burned CDs. We practiced in the basement for twenty minutes, power feedbacker in the good way and loaded into the car.

In Pittsburgh we found Carly and her boy John (who does exist). Drank beer and ate chili and brought our stuff up to their apartment. Out to the car and to karaoke, Stuey met us, sang war pigs. Left to go to a bowling alley, it was closed, we went to Ryan’s house instead and played Risk from 1am-5am listening to a five disc changer on random. Drank budweiser tallboys and mystified by clear smoke. Six person game, ended with defeat declared by Carly and I as Asia and Aus were well contained. Slept on the futon and woke up late and ate eggs and bullshitted and on out. If you are in Pittsburgh I recommend staying with Carly. Jeremy Hedges and co were unavailable, bummer. Next time dudes.

Afternoon drive to Columbus through light snow and rain. Went to Meg Buzzi’s house and rolled in with hangover faces and raw voices to a little dinner party. Meg gave us beer and delicious food and we sat and talked about Barone things and Susy things and music and we riffed for a while. Brian Harnetty was there, asked us where we were playing next, Kenyon, oh, I’m a music professor there. Awesome dude – listen to his music, drink beer and hang out with him at Meg’s house if you have the opportunity.

The Columbus show was a total disaster of a mess. Was a franz ferdinand bands show, some of the dudes were friendly, one was being a real dick about us playing. We drank a few beers and decided to peace out and spend the rest of the night working on CD packages. Giant bummer but whatever. In the morning I poured a bowl of grapenuts and went to put sugar from the sugar bowl on them, but the sugar turned out to be salt. My car had snow on it when we left.

Kenyon College is our favorite place in the continental US. Highest concentration of hilarious, motivated and fun young guns anywhere. When we left last time, it was after talking about drinking mimosas for hours and then not doing it. This time we went for it. I think we got there around 1PM. Sat in the coffee shop for a while, went to the liquor store around two, sat outside and drank two bottles of champagne watching the classes change. We opened them in the graveyard and didn’t recognize anyone until four, when all familiar faces appeared at once. Richard and Mirra and Mariana and Nora at the shop and we sat there for a while and went to buy more champagne. Went to Nora’s room where we drank white wine and then red, then to Richard’s house where we drank more champagne then Rogue stouts and eventually a “gin bucket” which is pretty much what you’d expect. Steffen and Tucker and PEEPS extended crew were all in attendance and we listened to pitched down Boards of Canada and I sprawled on the floor thinking about their labyrinth. We eventually went to a party and danced and danced drunk and loud, I met and talked to Andrew for a while, Mirra split her knee open and we worried that she would never dance again and Nora choked Mike.

Second day hungover piled out and had dust-stomach eggs for breakfast, same crew reunited and proceeded to get more champagne. Mike and I made our slow stagger to the Horn Gallery where we loaded in and played for maybe three hours. Cafeteria stomached only apples and oranges, still too exhausted and without appetite. Drew some t-shirts and worked on CDs for a while. Mimosas, mimosas and tallboys leftover from Pittsburgh. We played with Ed’s band Sushi Girl(?), Liesel danced perfectly, Mike and I watched it all from the shadows and I felt golden hexagonal energy spinning inside. We played three songs for maybe forty minutes, Mirra projected video and drummed super minimally. Incredible show, near perfect realization of the new material and so many good vibes. Afterward we went to a dorm party, drank a guy’s beer, I played Washing Machine and School of the Flower on his computer jukebox, got into an accidentally super heavy conversation with Ben (ps: if Ben or associates reads this, dude, email me – also Richard should email me too, tom at dog chirp), put on the Grey Album and moved drunk through many shoulders. Mike decided to party in the elevator and got everyone in trouble. We went back to the cottage and watched True Stories projected mute on the ceiling. In the morning snow covered everything.

Pulled out into Ohio clouds and got lost on the way out. Ice windshield and we listened to our set from the night before. Saw five cars completely flipped over on the way to Lexington. Perfect gray white day skies and seas one. In Lexington we loaded in and hung out. Ben and Daryl were good hosts and their cat Francis was huge. Listened to dub records and watched muted tv, ate pasta with srrachi, worked on merch for a while. Watched the Exorcist and time stretched and it was 10PM and we went, oh whoa, I guess we should play? Ben plays as CAVES – his shit was intense double bass manipulation, super low and brutal. We played a short chirp set, satisfying and sweet slow, only mics and cello – no bass or guitar. We went back upstairs, watched Adult Swim, drank whiskey and Tony came in and riffed for a while and we went to sleep. Ben took us to the Tally Ho in the morning for breakfast.

In Atlanta we stayed at Katie Bug’s. Drive was sinister – Tennessee cops everywhere, speed limit changed every five seconds. Her mom was hilarious and her dad (who has played 200 date years as Smoke Rise) told us we should cover the lick at the end of Dodge Ram commercials in our set. We watched those Different Drummer videos of Jesco White and Amazing Delores – highly recommended. On the way out we left a bag of muffins on the trunk and a guy beeped his horn at us a million times, rolled down his window, and yelled You gonna lose you muffins!

Was up all night working and being stressed and slept only four hours. Drive to Savannah was fast and easy. Savannah water still tastes like standing pond water. Met up with Amber and Michelle and bought champagne, ate a croissant and went straight to the space – burned out abandoned building without a front facing an art gallery. Celebs + Rowan and Hastings were in effect, super good vibes from the show, great to see Patrick Parker and John again. Played maybe twenty minutes, drank three Andre bottles and some beer, went to John and Patrick’s and listened to the Beatles until. Michelle’s dog Hobbes big and beautiful and well-behaved. Esteban gone and not forgotten. Mike and I went to Tybee in the morning and I walked fast and far and could hear the drums of death.

Columbia: Carlene’s dogs destroying everything, Dino still the best dude in America. Jeff’s house dark and strange – gave us presents, played us records, great dude alone in the wilderness. Played a smoked set for twenty minutes, bad feedbacker but heavy as hell ending, real slow burning meditator… no sweat and screaming, no chokes, but still up and out. Recorded this on video and haven’t played it back yet. Ate the best sandwich I’ve ever had for dinner, drank wheat beers, watched trailers for on demand movies until early morning. I’m fading out and am not doing a good job of telling this story anymore but I am going to finish it and supplement it later.

Durham yesterday fucking TEMPLE OF BON MATIN most killer set! Zach Kouns in his underwear absolutely annihilating to the audience of four – cafe owner’s mind blown – recorded it and will post it later, so, so, SO good. Our set was twenty minutes again, good stuff, Mike had problems with his vocal setup which was a bummer. Recorded it and will listen to it in the car today. Slept at Jonathan’s house and his kids in the morning staring at our wake-up. One asks, What are you doing in my house?

Charlottesville tonight and we’re done. So much left out. So much more to report that defies reporting.