2000-07-02

There are cotton roses here. the computer is capitalizing my sentences, and mending my ways (at least my grammatical ways). I know there are brick walls in my window view (and nothing but), but all I can see refracted back at me are rows and rows of office lights. The occasional chirp of a taxi down below. If I was still young, I'd pick my nose. But I don't do that now. Not when I'm a grown up. Even if I am alone in a place like this I don't do it. It's the nature and the pride of it all.

There are lines on my face, illumined by just a little persperation. Enough to make my head kind of slimy. Why is it my head sweats while the rest of my body is cool? It's also a lot more pink than the rest of my body. There's more blood in it. I look at myself in the full-length mirror sometimes and I can see the difference between my pale chest and my red head. My face is so tensed all the time anyway - unless I take the time to sit and think about it and relax it. Every once and a while I notice how tense my shoulders and neck are, and I think to myself, " my god, have they been that tight all day?"

Everybody has different wallpaper on their personalized computer screens here. It's a good statement opportunity. The Knicks, Notorious B.I.G, Michael Stipe, Impressionism, Cutsey-pie smile faces. Its all there. We borrow everything now-a-days, and put appendices to tell you where we got it. Footnotes, quotes. Reference sources. So what is it beyond all of the Actual stuff that we accumulate, what is it that makes us Us?

Speaking of accumulations, my hotmail account is overwhelmed with porn. Just because of that one little time that I gave out my email. I was curious, and horny. Now they're like little demons, pursuing me to the ends of the earth. "We Know What You Like. We've seen you in action. What you are interested in." A wink and a knowing smile, knudge - knudge of the elbow.

I'm listening to Stevie Wonder. He's got some groove going on. Singing about how music is a world of its own � and how you can feel it all over. I like to sit and compare Stevie Wonder to Ray Charles every once in a while. How they were both pushing the envelope of piano songwriting in their respective generations. And the fact that they both learned to love the ivories partly because they were blind and had nothing to look at. All those boring times sitting around in the room, young Ray and young Stevie listening to the sounds of the country; or listening to records. Falling in love with the blues heroes of their past. They share a link, a lineage - those guys. Stevie is more glossed over and produced, kind of smoothing off the edges, taking the time to "perfect the beats," if I may quote Dr. Dre.

Ray is the consumate soul man. His throaty sad voice is ever reminding us of the pain he's seen. Constantly editing, constantly checking himself (befo' he wrecks his'elf). He sings with wrenching, ragged honesty.

And lets not forget one of the greatest similarites between the two. And it's not the shades. I'm talking about back-up female singers. Ray has the Ray-ettes, perhaps his master-stroke. He plays off of their support vocals like a maestro. Just consider hits like 'that's enough' and 'hit the road jack'. See what I mean?

And Stevie, well, when he gets into those funky climactic grooves towards the end of a song, listen how he weaves his "Yeah, yah, babeee, ooohh, yeahs" into the female repeating chorus. It's the shit.

But I would like to see the roles reversed. I would be first in line to sing backup along with some other guys for some blind, black chick.